Malfoy Marriage Act
by Kikistone
Summary: Following the Dark Lord's demise, newly elected Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt finds himself forced to take action against crimes of hatred that are targeting families previously known as purebloods by implementing an ancient law that might be the only solution to the cry for help published in the Daily Prophet by a Malfoy. [All rights and ownership to J.K. Rowling] [EWE]
1. A Cry for Help

_To the British Wizarding Community and to the World,_

 _I, Narcissa Malfoy, have been selected to serve as a speaker for the group of solely magically inclined families referred to in the past as the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Today we write to you making no claims of blood purity or superiority, we write to you spouting no hatred or discordance, we write to you desiring no upheaval or upraising. Instead, we write to you humbled by our defeat, shamed by our atrocious actions, both passive and active, and requesting nothing more and nothing less than for the newly elected Minister and Wizengamot to make good on their promises of a safe and better tomorrow for all witches and wizards of the land._

 _When the war came to an end, we all expected, and even desired, for the carnage to come to an end. It might seem difficult to believe such a thing coming from the wives and children of the very men and women who set our world ablaze, but we, too, lost much to the war; husbands, wives, children, grandchildren, centuries-old legacies, able-bodiness, sanity and other unquantifiable losses. We, too, found hope in the words of Minister Shacklebolt when he spoke of the better days that awaited our community; which was why we, too, placed our unwavering confidence in the election process and this newly elected government._

 _It seems, however, that some witches and wizards of our community have chosen to forgo the message of unity and cooperation of this administration and instead have decided on a dangerous path not unknown to our families; a path brimming with segregation and hatred, a path full of misgivings and misinformation, a path that has left our world in shambles and our community bleeding._

 _Never did we think we would see the day that our young children would be pummeled to pulps in their schools, our witches publically shamed and harassed and our wizards denied opportunities to secure gainful employment to maintain their families following the freezing and seizing of their vaults and ancestral homes. We find ourselves helpless against a faceless enemy who hides among honest witches and wizards. There are no masks or marks or family names that we can utilize as guidelines for our children to avoid; there are no known offenders or investigation or cases being taken to the courts. There are no clear answers or pathways for us to follow._

 _For better or for worse, to the joy of some and the regret of others, we are still part of this community and we are still governed by the Wizengamot. Thus, we are not only dutifully bound by responsibilities to this our government, but we are also to be afforded the rights to which any member of this community has a claim._

 _It is for this reason that today we, the women and children of twenty-eight solely magically inclined families, denounce the appalling behavior of the witches and wizards that prevent the leftover wounds of the war from closing; condemn the persecution of our young children who cannot even begin to comprehend the issues behind the war; deplore the discrimination of our family members based on blood status, which has since been outlawed by our government; and censure the harassing and persecution of our witches._

 _We encourage the good witches and wizards of this community to open their eyes and realize that the actions of death eaters and other sympathizers of the Dark Lord, that were labeled crimes of hatred, are being perpetrated against us as I write this statement; we urge Minister Shacklebolt to make good on his promises of safety for his people; we appeal to the Wizengamot for the passing of laws and regulations that will result in the bettering of wizarding relations in our community, and we petition for the engagement of Aurors in the investigation of the crimes being carried out daily against us._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Narcissa Malfoy_


	2. The Briefing

If his predawn summoning to the Ministry for an urgent briefing bothered him, Kingsley Shacklebolt didn't show it. Instead, he simply took his seat at the head of the table and calmly conjured himself a strong cup of tea as department heads rapidly shouted orders to overwhelmed assistants. Interdepartmental memos were flying in and out of the elevators and the window had to be open so many times to allow owls in that it was simply left open in the end.

It was a while before people were able to compose themselves for the briefing, but once everyone took their seats all heads turn in the direction of the Minister who set down his second cup of tea with ease and came to a stand.

"Before I hand over this meeting to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I would like to explain to you all the situation with which we have been trying to deal ever since the war ended." He reached into his robes, pulled out a copy of the yesterday's Prophet and, after a meaningful pause, said, "I am afraid that the allegations made by Narcissa Malfoy in her statement are not only true but have also been phrased in the understated fashion that is expected of her upbringing." Murmurs buzzed all over the room as department heads conferred with each other and with their assistants, "I am saddened to report that many children of solely magically inclined descendance have been battered so severely at school that their families have had to withdraw them and instead educate them at home. One child, in particular, was hexed into a coma just last week at Hogwarts. This problem goes beyond simple bullying, however. A solely magically inclined witch-"

"Bloody hell, can we just agree to call them purebloods for the sake of speeding this meeting along?" mumbled a pudgy baldheaded man who was sent in place of the Head of the Department for Magical Games and Sports. "With all due respect, Prime Minister, we do not need such propriety behind closed doors." It was just a small twitched in the corner of his right eye, but for Kingsley Shacklebolt that was the equivalent of an outraged face.

"It is because of that kind of statement, and the mentality behind it, that we are facing the crisis being addressed today," Shacklebolt said sternly. "People have not really given up on the ideas of different levels of blood purity, but now, instead of having an all out persecution of all kinds of wizards we are coming face to face with a possible genocide of solely magically inclined families." Shocked gasps went around the room as the pudgy man's face grew red with embarrassment and indignation.

"Prime Minister," everyone turned to look at the owner of the small voice that came from the opposite end of the table where a thin, young witch with a mildly terrified face sat "when you say genocide, do you mean it in the same way that we use it over in the Muggle Liaison Office?" The Prime Minister nodded, but the witch couldn't really believe what she was hearing. "Do you mean to tell me that there is a group of wizards out there that are trying to exterminate pure-, I mean,solely magically inclined wizards as if they were vermin?"

"I am afraid such is the case, yes, Miss Periwinkle." Shacklebolt assured as a sepulchral silence fell over the meeting room. "What worries me the most is that thus far we have been unable to find a single wizard responsible for any of the despicable actions taking place; unless you have some good news for me?" he turned to look at the auror seated at the table next to the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"No updates reported on the Greengrass case, the Nott case, or any case, sir" The Prime Minister let out a long sigh and then proceeded to nod.

"Very well, let us begin this briefing." Shacklebolt took a seat and the auror and the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement stood up. Two hours later the room was in complete silence and every face in it had lost all color. Indeed the situation was far worse than the letter on the newspaper had let on; arson, break-ins, robberies, harassment, battery, discrimination and rape were the details left out of the newspaper piece.

"I don't even like the lot of them and I feel god awful for them," mumbled the pudgy man that had previously caused Shacklebolt to lose his patience. Before the Prime Minister could begin to reprimand him again, the man's face became that of a person who had made up his mind "The Department of Magical Games and Sports is at your service, sir, how can we help?" Rounds of nods and ayes went around the room as the ministry officials pledged their assistance and support.

"I thank you all for your commitment to the wellbeing of the witches and wizards of our community. Narcissa Malfoy's message was correct, it is our duty to assure that all wizards can live in peace and free of fear, regardless of familial ties or history." More nods and affirmations resulted from the statement. "We are here to create and implement a multifaceted approach to this issue. We must attack the lack of unity on all fronts." A woman stood up near the middle of the long table and cleared her throat.

"The Department of Magical Education will begin drafting a proposal for a new, mandatory course for students of all ages dealing with diversity and inclusion. We also pledge our commitment to strengthening the magical history curriculum to make emphasis on recent history and how divisiveness and segregation caused the rise of…" the lady took a deep breath and screeched out "Lord Voldemort." Next, the young woman from the Muggle Liaison Office stood up and spoke.

"Our office will happily work alongside you to create a course where students can explore muggle genocides and ethnic cleanses. We would also like to suggest a mentorship program that would connect newly magically inclined witches and wizards with the children of the solely magically inclined to foster friendship and acceptance between the groups. Maybe even collaborate with the Department of Magical Games and Sports and create an intramural league of quidditch based on diversity". Once Periwinkle sat down, the next one to propose a change was the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.

"While not exactly under our jurisdiction, we would like to volunteer our time and skills to help solely magically inclined families with any accident-related relief they might need." The wizard sat down and before the next official could stand the Minister himself stood.

"I would also like to propose a change, but I am afraid that it might not be met with the same ease as the previous ones." Everyone stopped murmuring and planning their contribution for a moment so that they could pay attention to the surely monumental announcement that was about to be made. "I have done some research, and while it is true that such a thing has not been implemented in many centuries it is still part of our laws and thus legally conceivable."

"Sir?" asked the auror when Shacklebolt did not continue.

"I have decided to enforce a marriage mandate on all wizards and witches of age who are not already married."

"Can you do that?" asked Gilbert Wimple from the Committee on Experimental Charms, who was currently sporting not only webbed hands, but also scaly skin and what seemed like gills.

"I have communicated my intent to enforce the mandate to the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and he said that I am within my power to do so."

"What exactly do you expect to accomplish by making them marry?" asked the one of the assistants from the International Magical Cooperation department, who looked to be a bit affronted, "It's not like they will choose to marry across groups".

"Ah, but you are wrong," some heads turned in the direction of the Minister so fast he was sure they would be having whiplash aftereffects for a few weeks. "You see, with the help the Experimental Charms committee and the Department of Mysteries I hope to create a charm that can determine which pairing of wizards, from two different backgrounds of course, are more likely to find love and create offspring. If the charm and the pairings are successful we can expect the disappearance of magical blood groups in just three generations."

"I guess I won't have to worry about the wordiness any longer, huh?" said the man from Magical Games and Sports.

"Exactly, these attacks will come to a complete end once everyone is exactly the same."

"What about those who are already promised to another wizard or witch?" Periwinkle asked as she rubbed the ring around her finger.

"The charm will be performed on these wizards as well, if the pairing is found to be in the least bit acceptable to our purpose, they will be allowed to continue. If not, they will be separated." Periwinkle nodded but did not seemed appeased in the least. "I understand this is going to be difficult to sell to the press and to our public-" a snort stopped the Minister mid sentence.

"Or any public, really" said the blond wizard from the Department of International Magical Cooperation. "Do you know what the international reaction will be to this? Other ministries are unsure of cooperating with us as is. I do not advise taking this path that will enrage our citizenry because it will not be seen positively internationally. Other ministries will question our ability to govern our citizens!"

"I assure you, Alistair Whitby, that they question our competency now." At this, the young wizard looked down at the floor between his feet. "May I recommend you think of this in a dispassionate manner, and not from a self-interested point of view moving forward?" Whitby nodded. "Good. Now, I believe the best way to publically approach this subject is to link it to Narcissa Malfoy's letter. If we do so successfully, we will look like the responsive and concerned government we are. It shouldn't be difficult, especially if we considered that she herself called for legislative action on the matter."

"I can run with that" said the Undersecretary to the Minister, "in fact, I think the fact that it was unconsciously proposed by Mrs. Malfoy will probably ensure the cooperation and participation of the children of solely magically inclined families. I will be reaching out today to the Malfoys requesting their presence, and maybe even asking them to speak in support of the measure, at the press conference scheduled for tomorrow at noon."

"Let us get to work, then." Shacklebolt stood pulled out his wand and adjourned the meeting as he disapparated to the Burrow to try and convince who he was sure was going to be a very angry golden trio.


	3. Messy Conversations

"You have decided to do WHAT?" It was Hermione's shout that broke all hell loose that day at the burrow.

"You can't do that!" Ginny shouted helplessly as her face turned to match her hair, "Mum, tell him he can't do that!"

"I swear to Godric, Kingsley Shacklebolt, that if you dare ruin my children's lives with this stupid mandate of yours I will give you a piece of what that Lestrange woman got!" the Minister had not seen Molly Weasley so worked up in a very long while.

"I will not do it!" Ron declared, "I most certainly will not do it!"

"Would you rather take up residence in Azkaban?" Harry questioned tiredly, "Because I am sure we will not be able to get away with not partaking in this, will we?" All faces turned to look Kingsley Shacklebolt in the eye who, despite all the screaming and cursing and complaining, seemed to be rather calm.

"I am afraid Harry is right," an exorbitant gasp came out of Arthur Weasley who was so upset that he proceeded to stammer out his opinion.

"W-with all the r-respect owed to a man in your p-position, Minister, I cannot and will not stand for this nonsense!" Mr. Weasley pulled at the neck of his shirt and continued, "Don't you think these children have already given up ENOUGH?" Shacklebolt had the decency to look ashamed.

"Arthur, please, you have to understand" Shacklebolt took a seat and with a tired sigh he took off his mask of calmness to reveal his distress. "Just days ago I was called out of bed in the middle of the night because a young pureblood witch was found unconscious in an alleyway adjacent Diagon Alley. Her close were torn, she had no recollection of the last couple of hours and the only thing certain in her life when I went to meet with her and her family was the unbearable pain between her legs."

"Poor girl," Molly said hugging Ginny and Hermione to her sides "I cannot imagine how awful the whole thing must be. Her family must be deep in despair!"

"Her family probably doesn't even want to talk to her" huffed Ron earning him a slap in the back of the head curtsey of Hermione "What? It's true, if she is a pureblood now she is considered spoiled goods, no?"

"Ronald Weasley! I forbid you from speaking in such ill terms of that poor girl, whoever she or her family might be!" Molly's voice boomed in a way that reminded her children of a howler.

"Yes, mum." He said looking at the floor and then added, "I know it is not the girl's fault and that she is not spoiled goods…"

"Or goods at all!" chastised Hermione moodily, "But back to the matter at hand, can't we get away with not partaking in this, Kingsley?" her voice pleaded with him to understand. Kingsley was closest to Hermione of them all; they had always understood each other.

"Hermione," Harry spoke tiredly "you know better than anyone that we can't. They need us to get people to go with the flow." Hermione knew it to be true but she had still wanted to try.

"Have we not given you everything?" a single tear rolled down the brunette's face. "We fought Voldemort and his followers over and over again, we hunted for those bloody horcruxes, I had to irreparably erase my parents memories, I have a scar on my arm that will never let me forget any of the horrors I have lived!" In a small, dejected voice Hermione whispered, "When will it be enough for you to leave us alone?"

"Believe me the last thing I wanted was for it to come to this" Shacklebolt said as Ginny went to Hermione and took her hand. "As your friend, there is nothing I wouldn't do for any of you in this room. During the war you were my family, and I like to believe that bond still remains."

"If it remains, please Kingsley, let us be in peace." Ginny's voice was fierce.

"But as your Minister I cannot allow you to evade the mandate." The man stood tall, his face full of resolve. "You say you have given up so much for our world, well so have I, and all our sacrifices and that of Tonks and Lupin and Sirius and Severus and even Lilly and James Potter will have been for nothing if we allow these twisted individuals to prey on our people!"

The room fell silent as they all digested the words of the Minister. For a while nobody spoke and only Ginny dared look Harry in the eye after such a blunt statement was made.

"Harry, please," Shacklebolt forced his eyes to look at the man who had once been a boy. "You need to help us. If we cannot get you on board, the initiative will fail. Those who refuse to go with the mandate will be investigated in depth by the aurors to find links to the attacks on pureblooded individuals."

"That's twice you've called them purebloods," Mr. Weasley noted, "Have the laws changed as much as your sense of family?"

"Right," the Minister nodded "Can I count on the people's heroes to help me bring stability back to the wizarding community and to ensure the safety of the solely magically inclined? Or should I advise the Wizengamot of your upcoming trials?"

Everyone was quiet while Harry seemed to ponder his decision. The Boy Who Lived proceeded to let out an enormous breath he was unaware he had been holding and finally spoke, "I guess we can never stop being heroes, can we? It is not a wizard's robe that you can take off and put on at will. We will forever have to give up all that we hope, dream and aspire for the sake of others."

"What about our plans, Harry?" This time it was Ginny's voice that threatened to break into a million pieces, "We were going to marry."

"You still could," interjected Ron "from what Kingsley explained-"

"Oh, don't be dense Ron!" Ginny snapped angrily unable to control her frustration or her temper "Maybe other people will be able to marry who they have chosen, but not us! We will have to solidify this bloody mandate by marrying into pure blood."

"Is there even a charm?" asked Hermione resigned to her destiny.

"There is, and you will all be submitted to it" Shacklebolt said, "You are expected to marry in such a way that your blood mixes with that of someone from a different background, though. So in your case Ginny, you would marry a wizard who is not solely magically inclined."

"So there is still a chance that Harry and Ginny can marry, right? His mother was newly magically inclined" Mrs. Weasley asked, the first rays of hope seen in that room shone brightly in her eyes.

"I would hope," the Minister threaded lightly as he cleared his throat, "that Ginny and Harry would consider the results of the charm and then make a conscious decision, taking into account the repercussions of their actions."

"So, they could; but you hope they won't choose each other." Hermione phrased it to sound like a question, but they could all tell it was a statement.

"I want us all to do what will result in the greater good, while still being able to be happy." The Minister said as he took off his hat and rubbed his head. "As impossible as it may seem."

"When are they supposed to go in for the charm?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"It is still being developed, but we believe we are close to a breakthrough. Nonetheless, there is a press conference tomorrow at noon that needs to be attended by at least one of you." The man looked from Ron, to Harry and finally to Hermione.

"I agree to go in for the charm, but I hate those bloody conferences I am not going." Ron said and quickly took his leave when the Minister nodded and thanked him.

"I would go, but the reality is that I do not want to have to sit there and field questions about what this whole thing means for my relationship with Ginny and our plans." Harry said not looking at his redheaded fiancée.

"I'll go," Hermione said, "But I reserve the right to say whatever I want."

"Whatever you want so long as it doesn't endanger the passing or implementation of the mandate," Shacklebolt negotiated and Hermione conceded the request with a nod. "You will be notified by owl ahead of time as to where to apparate and all other pertinent details. Thank you, dear friends, for your collaboration."

"Make no mistake, Minister Shacklebolt, whatever friendship was built during the war between you and I" Hermione said as her eyes brimmed with tears "was cashed in today and has died an early death."

"Very well," The Minister stood, looking quite hurt by the brunette's cutting words, "I will take my leave. You have a good day, Miss Granger." Hermione turned her back on the man and without another word left the room. "Will she ever forgive me?" The man asked no one in particular, but it was Harry who answered.

"Depends," he said with a shrug catching the Minister's attention.

"On?"

"On whether you are stupid enough to pair her with who I think you want for her." Harry, too, left without a backwards look at the Minister.


	4. Malfoy Sponsorship

True to his word, once the briefing ended James Acton contacted the Malfoy matriarch. If the speediness of the Ministry's response surprised her, the witch did not show it. Her note was short, to the point and beautifully written in rich parchment:

 _Undersecretary Acton,_

 _I have received your letter requesting a meeting with both my son and me. I think it would be best for us to meet at the Manor to keep this gathering private. I have amended the wards so you can apparate._

 _Narcissa Malfoy_

As soon as the undersecretary finished reading it, the note disintegrated without a trace. It wasn't the first time James Acton had had to communicate with the woman due to her capacity as spokesperson of the sacred families, but it never ceased to surprise him that her letters caught fire or crumbled or simply vanished upon being read.

He sent an interdepartmental memo to the Minister to notify him of his whereabouts, wished his secretary a good rest of the day and put on his best wizard robes even though he knew it wouldn't deter the hateful portraits of Malfoys past. Taking a deep breath, the man apparated to the foyer of Malfoy Manor where a house elf materialized with a pop.

"Hello," said the undersecretary as he adjusted his robes back into place "I am here for a meeting with Mrs. Malfoy and Mr. Malfoy." The elf's eyes went wide with fear, but it took only a moment for the man to understand the reaction, "pardon, I meant to say, Mr. Draco Malfoy."

"Nym is supposed to take you to the sitting room, Mr. Acton sir," said the young elf as she gestured for the man to walk with her. The wizard looked up to face the inevitable name-calling that was due to start any moment from the portraits but found the foyer stripped of them.

"Uh, excuse me," he cleared his voice, "where have the family's portraits gone?" The elf appeared unsure for a moment but seemed to decide it was okay to share because, after a pause, she spoke with conviction.

"Master Draco returned from New World after being gone for long." The elf was now looking up at the place where he knew the meanest portrait had hung, "Ancient masters now are in Gringotts vault."

"I must admit I rather like the new setting." A breath he hadn't realized he was holding left his lungs with a low hiss.

"Master Draco is a good wizard," the elf said secretively as she led him into the sitting room, "Please take a seat, mistress and master come now."

The elf left him to his own thoughts as she exited the room with a pop. Upon closer examination of the space, Acton found that it, too, had been changed. The area now featured sprawling couches and an inviting fireplace where logs sat ablaze. The cream walls created an inviting ambiance in which the ever-present darkness that plagued the manor seemed miraculously subdued.

Suddenly, the doors to the room open allowing both mother and son in. As the pair strolled the considerable distance between the door and where he stood, Acton wondered, not for the first time, how it was possible that they always seemed to float rather than walk. It was as if the Malfoys never found it necessary to mind their step or look down at the floor.

"Undersecretary," Draco Malfoy greeted him with a nod, "how may we help you today?"

"Draco," his mother chastised, "Were you raised by ogres, dear? Where are your manners?" The two could have been talking about the weather for all the emotion their faces showed. It was yet another trait of the Malfoys that never ceased to unsettle Acton.

"Apologies, mother," The platinum blonde turned to gesture at the couches the man had eyed before, "Please, join us for tea."

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy," he said taking a seat across from mother and son as tea and pastries materialized in front of them. After a few pleasantries were exchanged the ministry official cleared his throat and gestured at his wand.

"Please, feel free to use magic at your convenience" Draco Malfoy nodded.

"Thank you. Now, I believe we can all agree it is in everyone's best interest to get these attacks under control as soon as possible," with a flick of the ministry official's wrist two sets of documents materialized in front of the Malfoys, who set down their saucers in order to begin reading. "Due to the nature of the situation the Ministry has begun implementing measures of unification on all fronts."

"While I can appreciate the benefits of exposing young wizards to non-magical genocides and mentorship programs fostering unity," Acton had to stop himself from spitting his tea at Draco Malfoy's words, "I feel the need to say that my mother's letter was a very understated version of the facts and that I believe a more aggressive approach is in order."

Taking a second to collect himself, the undersecretary continued the speech he had prepared, "the Minister shared your concerns, Mr. Malfoy, which is why another measure is being implemented." Another flick of the wrist apparated a thick mandate in front of the fair-haired man. "This is the, uh, mandate the Minister hopes to announce to the wizarding world tomorrow at noon."

The blonde took his time reading this particular document, only stopping every so often to think, yes, think, notes onto a parchment he had wordlessly apparated. Acton made a mental note to notify the Minister of Draco Malfoy's ability to perform non-verbal magic. Once he had finished reading the draft mandate, he passed it over to his mother, who after only a few seconds looked straight into the undersecretary's eyes with acrimony.

"This is the solution with which the Ministry has come up?" Narcissa Malfoy spoke angrily, or as angrily as was allowed from a woman of her status "the extermination of our families' lineages?" Acton was sure that if things were different, the woman would have cursed him where he sat.

"I assure you, Mrs. Malfoy, that we are doing this in an effort to create an egalitarian society in which you and your family have no reason for which to be targeted. This mandate will allow you to live in peace." Acton said clearing his throat and shifting uncomfortably in his seat as Draco Malfoy lifted his hand stopping the undersecretary's babbling.

"Mother," He said with all the detached calm in the world, "It is time to leave behind the infatuation with purity of blood that has landed so many of our family members both in Azkaban and six feet under." The witch looked like she wanted to put an end to her own son's life right then and there, but then her features softened to match her son's.

"Draco, you are now the head of this family, if you consider it best to go along with this mandate so be it." The statement seemed to have taken a real toll on the woman because to Acton it was as if she had aged a decade before his very own eyes. "I guess this will be the beginning of a new era."

"A new era indeed, in which all wizard can prosper and lead the lives they wish to lead." Acton said with a solemn nod.

"A new era that will probably begin sooner if Draco was to publically support this mandate, correct?" James Acton had never felt so exposed before in his life; he dared guess the witch had known all along the purpose of the meeting even if she ignored the specifics.

"I, uh," the undersecretary cleared his throat, "The Ministry of Magic was hoping to secure Mr. Malfoy's support, yes."

"I am sure you have brought some sort of bargaining chip, Mr. Acton." Malfoy said reaching for a scone, "I encourage you to give your best offer because while I cannot publically reject the mandate, I certainly need not sponsor it."

"Well, as outlined in the draft mandate, there will be a charm carried out to determine the matches for each wizard or witch," both Malfoys nodded in unison, "of course, we could arrange for your charm to be carried out first so as to have full access to the most eligible witches in the pool."

"From what I read, the charm is supposed to test for compatibility but choosing someone from a different blood background, correct?" the wizard nodded and so Malfoy continued "Then, it seems to me, Mr. Acton, that your offer is not very much of an offer at all."

"Pardon me, Mr. Malfoy?"

"You see, I achieved Os in all my OWLs and NEWTs, I am gifted in business and negotiations and have a large, though admittedly sequestered, family fortune; how exactly am I supposed to be matched with anything else but an extraordinary witch?" Acton was speechless given that Malfoy was indeed right in his reasoning.

"Uh, Mr. Malfoy-" the grey-eyed wizard stopped him once more.

"Mr. Acton, let's not fool ourselves." Malfoy said standing up from his seat abruptly, "this is not a negotiation, you were sent to this meeting empty-handed and I have bested you. I am sure the Prime Minister has plans for my marriage, otherwise, you wouldn't be here making sure I go quietly into the night."

"I assure you, Mr. Malfoy, that no such plans have been made; your match will be determined via charm just like every other wizard's." Acton said standing as well.

"If you truly believe that, Mr. Acton," said Narcissa Malfoy as she vacated her seat, "then you are completely unaware of how things work." The witch wished him a good day and exited the room, leaving both wizards to continue their conversation.

"Mr. Malfoy, I swear to you-"

"Enough," the blonde looked furious for all of two seconds before regaining his composure, "Acton, you were a Ravenclaw, use your brain. Deep down you must know that certain people are key players and that their matches cannot be left to chance." Malfoy could almost see the wheels spinning in the other wizard's brain.

"The Golden Trio, the Weasleys" said the wizard looking straight at the former death eater.

"Yes, the notable do-gooders." Malfoy nodded, "but also that of their counterparts during the war; my match, Nott's, Zabini's, Parkinson's and that of any other wizard or witch belonging to one of the twenty-eight." The undersecretary looked at the other man in awe of his deductions. "Lucky for you, Acton, unlike you I understand the rules of the game, which means I am interested in collaborating with the Ministry."

"You are?" Acton asked, but quickly cleared his throat and stood tall, "I mean, of course you are."

"I am." Malfoy said putting the man out of his misery, "I believe this means I will be calling my secretary to move my noon meeting and scheduling a press conference instead?"

"You will receive an owl with all the details regarding the event." Malfoy looked at the man, nodded and turn towards the door.

"Good day, Mr. Acton. Nym!" a loud pop was heard as the elf materialized "Please, show our guest out."


	5. Triggered Lioness

_Miss Granger,_

 _The honor of your presence is requested in Minister Shacklebolt's office at the Ministry of Magic no later than 11:30 a.m. for a short information session. The press conference will promptly follow at noon and is expected to last no more than an hour; refreshments will be provided. As usual, you can floo directly into the Minister's office. Should you have any questions leading up to the event, please feel free to owl._

 _Best Wishes,_

 _Catherine Alexander,_

 _Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic_

Hermione wondered, not for the first time, why she had agreed to this public appearance. Friendships and favors be damned; exposing herself to the likes of Rita Skeeter came at a high personal cost. The witch huffed under her breath remembering the last time her face had appeared in the papers. It had been in that foul woman's gossip column and had led to the end of her relationship with Ron. She had tried to assure him to no end that the picture of her and Viktor had been taken out of context, but the redhead wouldn't listen.

"It's what I get for mixing old friendships and half-hearted attempts at relationships," she mumbled under her breath as she pulled out of her closet the first dress that came in contact with her hand. It was the silver dress she had bought for her birthday; its fabric had been enchanted to shimmer when touched by sunlight or the flash of cameras, "how appropriate" she muttered.

The floo in her living room lit up, announcing her best friend's arrival. A single look at her and she knew something was wrong, for Hermione had never before seen the Holyhead Harpies' chaser down in the dumps. Ginny's nose was red, her complexion was blotchy and her eyes were beyond bloodshot.

"You look awful," the brunette noted taking a seat next to where her friend had parked herself on the couch. The witch snorted in the most unladylike manner possible.

"Merlin, thank you," she added sarcastically, "did you get tact lessons from Percy since I last saw you?" Hermione winced.

"Sorry, Ginny, I was just taken aback…" She caught herself before she said yet another insensitive remark, and instead asked her friend what was wrong.

"Harry has decided it is best for us to take some time apart." Ginny dried her eyes with her jumper's sleeve. "Said it would be best to guard our hearts against disappointment. Can you believe it?" Hermione just listened to her friend's woes, "he is just so convinced we will not be paired by the love charm. It's a love charm, for crying out loud! I have loved Harry for most of my life!" suddenly the redhead froze, turning to look at her best friend with fearful eyes "do you think he is scared because he doesn't love me anymore?"

"I doubt that is the case, Ginny," Hermione said rolling her eyes "not after he asked your father permission to court you in the middle of a bloody war and asked for his blessing to propose as soon as it was over."

"Then tell me, Hermione, you are far quicker than the rest of us put together; tell me, why is he doing this?" The brunette quickly decided it was best to keep her theories to herself and simply shrugged.

"I don't know, Ginny." She flicked her wand and apparated a cup of chamomile tea for her friend, "men are a complete mystery as far as I am concerned; I mean, look at how things ended between your brother and me." They both looked off into space not saying a word until the clock announced it was ten in the morning.

"I have to get ready, come" they made their way to the witch's room where the woman slipped into the dress she had pulled out before. As she reached for her silver heels her friend stopped her.

"Do you think yourself a coin?" she reprimanded shaking her head, "silver on silver, by Godric, how awful."

"Go ahead, then," Hermione gestured towards her closet deciding to humor her friend's fashionable instincts for once "do your worst." Ginny didn't need much encouragement. Soon, she had handed her friend a pair of black strappy heels and a black robe to go over her dress. Then she sat her at the boudoir Hermione rarely used and employed the many beauty charms she had learned over the years.

"There," she said eyeing her handiwork, "your nails are lacquered, your complexion is smooth and a light hint of make up makes you glow." Helping Hermione stand, she studied her some more and hummed.

"What?" the brunette asked as she looked down at herself. Ginny didn't bother answering, instead choosing to pull out her wand and altering the dress and robe to be more fitted.

"Perfect," then she looked at her best friend's nightstand to check the time, "I am guessing you need to leave now or you will be late?" Hermione's eyes went wide as she saw it was 11:25 a.m. With a quick wave goodbye, she ran into the floo.

"Ministry of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt's office" she announced loudly as she threw a handful of powder.

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As much as he hated going to the Ministry these days, Draco Malfoy had apparated in front of the imposing building at 11:10 a.m. He could hear a couple of witches whispering about him off to his left, as wizards quickly broke eye contact when they realized whom he was. The man had to call on years of practice to keep his face impassive as he marched inside. The bustling foyer fell silent as eyes landed on him; as expected, the whispers began soon after.

"That's the Malfoy heir…"

"… Death Eater…"

"He is wearing…"

"… Left for America…"

"Testified against his own father!"

"… I heard he disappeared for months…"

"Tortured dozens…"

The furious mutterings followed him all the way to the lift, but he paid them no attention. All his life had been plagued by poorly hushed whispers; as a child, it was about his temperamental personality and tantrums, then it was about his good looks, his romantic interests and who the 'eligible young bachelor' would marry; and finally, when his family fell from grace, they began talking about his condition as a death eater, the shame that surrounded his family and his betrayal of the Dark Lord during the final battle. A ding announced the elevator's arrival and its doors opened to let out wizards of all shapes and sizes. He wasn't surprised when the doors closed and he was the only person to have gotten on. When he finally arrived at the Minister's office a terrified looking witch greeted him.

"Mr. Malfoy, sir," she fidgeted, "Minister Shacklebolt is still in a meeting, sir. He will be five more minutes, you see." The platinum blonde had to suppress the long sigh that wanted to fight its way out of him.

"Miss…" he said fishing for the woman's name.

"Oh, right, sorry," she said as her eyes widened, "Alexander, Catherine Alexander, I am the Junior Assistant. I wrote to you this morning." The woman looked like she was about to pass out cold, which compelled him to soften his features into a reserved smile.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Alexander" he said with a slow bow of the head, sure that any sudden movement would cause the woman to collapse "The Minister is a busy man, I do not mind waiting for a few minutes in the seating area."

"Yes, yes, of course!" the woman said shakily walking him to the couches. "Here you go, sir. Would you like anything, Mr. Malfoy? Coffee, tea, a fizzy drink maybe?" The woman looked horrified for a second and then she amended "No, not a fizzy drink, you probably don't like it, I don't find it appealing at all, really."

Malfoy smiled slowly, fearing that anything else would cause the woman a stroke, and spoke "Really? I find I quite like it; the non-magically inclined really do come up with the most curious things." Maybe that had been the wrong thing to say because all color drained from the witch's face. Draco Malfoy feared that if the woman fainted, he would be accused of hurting her in some way; which was about the last thing the man needed.

"Mr. Malfoy" Kingsley Shacklebolt said as he ushered Gilbert Wimple, whose skin was an odd shade of greenish purple, out of his office. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting. Please, follow me." As soon as they entered the room, the floo came to life announcing Hermione Granger's arrival.

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The Minister had to stop himself from laughing as he took in the sight before him. The newly magically inclined witch was wearing fashionable witch robes while Malfoy wore a fitted black non-magical suit and tie. The Minister chose to take the juxtaposition as a positive augur for today's conference.

"Hermione, welcome" he said with a cheery smile; when the witch nodded instead of telling him off for his friendly ways he knew he was on his way to being forgiven. "I was just about to explain to Draco the Ministry's expectations for today's events."

"Malfoy?" she said turning to look the wizard in the face, undoubtedly she had just connected the attire with the man wearing them. The blonde wizard gave her a knowing smile.

"The one and only, Miss Granger" the blonde didn't see the witch's eyes widen because he had turned to look at the Minister, "Shall we?"

Close to half an hour later, there was a knock on the door followed by the appearance of Miss Alexander's floating head, which first cautioned it was time for the conference and then proceeded to give Draco Malfoy a non-magical drink. A few minutes later, Kingsley Shacklebolt led the way into the conference hall and sat himself in the center seat of the conference's panel; Hermione took the seat to his right and Draco the one to the left. The peculiar group did not go unnoticed by the reporters.

"Let's get started, shall we?" Said the Minister as he came to a stand. The next twenty minutes passed as he addressed the dire situation being faced by the solely magically inclined families. He called on every witch and wizard to not only extend a hand of friendship to those affected but to come forward with any information regarding the continuous attacks on the well-being of their fellow citizens. With only a half hour remaining, the Minister delved into the intricacies of the unification plan, leaving for last the matter of the marriage mandate.

"I am sure we can all agree, however, that the best way to foster a sense of community and social responsibility is to create opportunities for wizards and witches of all backgrounds to freely interact with each other. This is the idea behind the revitalization of education efforts, the inauguration of the new quidditch league, the creation of the mentorship and volunteering programs, and the backbone of what the Ministry calls the Malfoy Marriage Act." There was a moment of stunned silence and soon all the reporters jumped to their feet and tried to speak over each other.

"Prime Minister, can you tell us more about the act?"

"Prime Minister, the last time a marriage act was passed was in the middle ages; is this your way of returning to a more involved government model?"

"You called it the Malfoy Marriage Act, was the proposal brought about by Draco Malfoy who is joining you today?"

"Miss Granger, what is the significance of your presence and are you here with Mr. Malfoy?"

It was too difficult to keep track of all the questions and, frankly, after such a trying morning, the Minister didn't have it in him to gently appease his public. He lifted his wand to his neck and, with the help of a quick sonorus spell, instructed the crowd to quiet down.

"Before I open the floor for questions, I would like to invite Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger to speak about the Malfoy Marriage Act."

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"Ladies first, Miss Granger," whispered the blonde with a short nod in the direction of the crowd and she huffed out her frustration. Of course, the cowardly snake would leave her to face the music by her lonesome self. The witch began reaching deep within her to channel her innermost lioness. Taking a deep breath, Hermione Granger stood and cleared her voice before speaking.

"Good Afternoon, everyone," she gave her most radiant smile as millions of blinding flashes went off, documenting what was sure to be a historical moment. "Today I stand before you in order to discuss the marriage mandate being decreed by the Ministry of Magic. However, before I share my thoughts on the subject, I would first like to clarify that while it is true that I was asked to attend this conference at no point was I instructed what to say or do. The only expectation the Ministry had of both Mr. Malfoy and me was for us to share our beliefs and convictions regarding this piece of legislature in a respectful and orderly manner." She paused for a short second, shifted her weight from one foot to the other and launched into the statement she had thought up in the midst of what could only be described as a caffeine-induced epiphany the previous night.

"Ever since I joined the wizarding world, I have tried my hardest to strengthen it, to better it, to aid in its advancement; oftentimes to the detriment of my person and those I love. I have put my sweat, tears, and blood towards the worthy cause of a better tomorrow. It was because of my unwavering faith in these ideas that I was persecuted, kidnapped, tortured and nearly killed countless times during the war. But even all these sacrifices pale in comparison to those made by people like Albus Dumbledore, Sirius Black, Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks and Fred Weasley. The price they paid for their beliefs was much too high, but they did it so that we all could be here today." Hermione felt the tears burning in her eyes and bile rise up her throat as she prepared for the next portion of her speech, "It is because of those lost lives that I say I am revolted by our world." All eyes in the room widened at the palpable hate in the brunette's voice. "I am disgusted by the witches and wizards who are choosing to attack others in the same manner we all condemned for so long. I am appalled by the silence of every witch and wizard who has kept secret the names of the perpetrators of such heinous crimes. I am sickened by the fact that people are whispering 'they had it coming' at the suffering of another human being. More than anything, however, I am repulsed by the fact that whoever is behind these attacks thinks themselves better than others. This is the kind of hate and superiority complex that gave rise to Voldemort." She paused to let this sink in. "It is because I believe that no wizard is better or worse than the next, that today I stand before you in favor of this decree. If our people refuse to stop using blood as a targeting tool, then we must all do everything within our power to erase the divides and instead create one single blood classification."

It was safe to say that everyone in the room was dumbfounded at her strong words. She chose to take it as a blessing and took her seat, "Your turn, Malfoy."

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 _ **Hello!**_

 _ **You might have noticed that today's chapter is longer than usual, and that I am actually breaking my silence for the first time. These are my gifts to you all because this amazing story —into which I am pouring years of reading and crazy fleeting harry potter thoughts I have had over the years— has reached the 100s in terms of views! I know that might not seem like much to some, but it really truly means the world to this twenty-something Slytherin at heart who never got her letter so instead chose to settle for grad school.**_

 _ **I would also like to thank my readers, my subscribers —**_ _ **purplehedgehog13, HHrbelong2gether, Calindy, L'amour bleu, , and author KikiGray (for whom I beta)**_ _ **— and my visitors! I know there is no way for you to know this, but I actually respond to every review, it's just my operating policy; which is why I am going to have to use this medium today to answer a review.**_

 _ **DEAR HERM (my first guest reviewer ever!)**_

 _ **I am almost sure I am addressing a fellow Slytherin, if not for any other reason than the fact that because it takes one to know one! If you are anything like me, and it takes a really compelling chapter to leave a review, I am beyond proud and honored that you took the time to figure out how this whole guest-review process works! I am giddy you found the characters to be well represented and to have a depth to their personalities; as a writer, I aim to prevent the pet peeves I have discovered by reading other fan-fiction authors. Narcissa Malfoy, for example, is one of my favorite characters, and in my head, she is such a BOSS that I couldn't just let her be a pretty doll who is trying to deal with losing her husband to Azkaban, and who depends on her son to anchor her to this world. NO WAY, Not on my watch! As for Draco, and the other Slytherins — come on, there has to be a bit of house loyalty, no? — My goal is to make them more human, to show their trials, tribulations, challenges, and despair; but also their successes, achievements, goals, and aspirations. They will be incredibly complex characters since they are grown up humans who have more going on that being bullies or mindless parrots that repeat their parents' comments.**_

 _ **I am excited, are you?**_

 _ **Best,**_

 _ **Kikistone**_


	6. Drawing the Line

_Song of Choice for today's Chapter: Painting Greys by Emmit Fenn_

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In retrospect, after sharing many classes with the witch, Draco Malfoy should have known better than to put himself in the position of having to play second act to her speech. The press had finally recovered from the passionate discourse and was clearly out for blood. "Time to face the music," he whispered as he got up, cleared his throat and began speaking.

"Ever since I found out about this press conference, I have been going insane trying to come up with the right ideas, the right words, the right amount of feeling that a good sponsorship for this mandate would require. Should I speak sternly, passionately or disinterestedly? Should I elaborate on the horrors my friends and their families are going through? Would that send the wrong message, making me look like a hypocrite, given what some of us have done? Should I even speak at this conference at all today? Should I simply sit here in silence and hope that my presence is enough?" His face was impassive, but his voice was full of emotion "I am afraid that I haven't been able to answer many of these questions; and the few I have answered, have only raised more in turn. This conference is just another event that, like every other big or small occurrence in my life, takes an incredible mental and physical toll on me. I never thought I would have to second, third and fourth guess my every action, but such is my life these days. Just this morning I had to deal with a person who almost passed out while offering me a complimentary drink! I was petrified someone would think I had done something and caused her to faint. Everywhere I go I am met with fearful eyes, judging glances, and incessant whispering. I am judged by what I did and what I failed to do, and I guess that is something with which I will have to deal because I made my bed, and I will have to lie in it. I can live with that; but that with which I cannot live is that innocent people, whose only crime is to have a certain type of blood, are paying for the crimes of the few. I will not deny that those crimes took many lives, destroyed others, and left many to deal with insurmountable grief; I know what I did, what my father did, and I still stand by what I said at my trial: I did what I did in a desperate attempt to preserve my mother's life and my own. I am not proud of the role I played and will have to learn to carry that burden." The wizard straightened his back and defiantly looked at every face in the room, showing true determination "But I will be damned if I allow for innocent people to pay the price for my mistakes and my choices. Children, who played no role in the war, are being attacked! Women, who have no connections to Voldemort, are being raped! Where do we draw the line? When do we say enough is enough?" He took a second to bring his voice back under control. "For as long as these attacks continue I can never truly say the war is over; I can, however, say that I am exhausted. I, as well as many of my friends and their families, do not have it in us to keep fighting and hurting and struggling and hiding. We need to put an end to this cycle because I don't want anyone's children growing up in the same conditions I grew up and continue to live in today." He swallowed awkwardly "I don't want my children to grow up in a world that recriminates their sole existence the way it does my own. I never imagined what that would be like, and I'm sure neither have many of you. There is nothing quite like people hating you simply because you roam the streets." He turned to look at Hermione Granger dead in the eye and spoke with so much sincerity it hurt to listen to him "Hermione, I could apologize for what I did to you for the rest of my life, and I would still fall short." The witch's eyes went wide with shock, both at the speech and at hearing her name, as gasps flew from all corners of the audience, "I am most sorry, for everything." Hermione Granger's eyes filled with unshed tears and nodded; causing him to let out a sigh he didn't know he had been holding. "I can never take back the past, but I can try and change the future, try and be on the right side of history this time; which is why I speak in full support of this initiative created by the Ministry of Magic."

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The room was in complete and total silence for about two seconds. While the reporters quickly recovered from the speech, it took Kingsley Shacklebolt a bit longer to compose himself. Using the sonorus spell once more he managed to halt the chaos that had ensued.

"Everyone, please, settle down," he asked for what felt like the millionth time that morning. "We will be taking questions for the remaining five minutes and then this conference will come to an end. If you wish to get any answers, you must settle down." The statement seemed to do the trick because soon the only unrest in the room was the number of hands that were raised requesting a chance to speak. "The gentleman in the front in the grey robes." He said calling the first question.

"William Carrington for the Daily Prophet, Minister." He said as he turned to look in the direction of Hermione, "my question is for Hermione Granger: Miss Granger, you do realize that the passing of this mandate could potentially mean you will be forced to marry a death eater or someone who was tied to Lord Voldemort? Could you live with such a thing?"

"I am well aware of the possibilities, Mr. Carrington." Hermione said simply, "of course it wouldn't be my first choice to marry the person you are describing, but I would not be forced into anything, as you put it. I am going into this situation with my eyes wide open. I have faith that the charm being developed by the Ministry will find a wizard with whom I can share my life." Shacklebolt took advantage of the pause to call the next question.

"Annalisa Hopwood for The Quibbler." The witch's eyes shown with curiosity, "my question is for you, Minister: Can you please tell us more about this charm? When can we expect for it to be ready?"

"In the past, when marriage mandates where instated, witches and wizards were forced to find their couple, marry within a specific time period and in some cases procreate by a deadline." Enchanted quills scribbled furiously, "You would be right to assume that many of those rushed marriages ended poorly and that the children didn't fare much better; which is why I decided to reach out to Experimental Charms and the Department of Mysteries. I realized early on that for this mandate to work, things would have to be drastically different from past attempts. It would require a charm that dealt with experimental magic but that, at the same time, delved into the field of love, a subject that has long been explored in the Mysteries Department. The charm is currently in the works and the Ministry expects to successfully complete the first charm by next week. A detailed report will be sent to all wizards and witches affected by the mandate answering all questions." He looked around the room and his eyes fell on a round-faced woman, "Miss, you, in the pink suit."

"Nancy Curly for Witch Weekly" her voice was extremely high pitched and made Shacklebolt instantly regret calling on her, "my question is for Mr. Malfoy: given that you, too, will be undergoing the charm, the readers of Witch Weekly would love to know what kind of marriage you expect to have, what things you are looking for in a wife, and with whom do you think you are likely to be paired?"

The wizard didn't say anything for a long minute; in fact, the Minister started wondering if he was going to answer the question at all. Soon, the reporter began squirming uncomfortably under Draco's silver gaze in such a way that Shacklebolt started to interrupt when the wizard finally started answering the question.

"I can't say I have given much thought to the intricacies of the kind of marriage I would like to have; I am sure you can imagine that, at the moment, I am more concerned with being able to find common ground with the witch with which I am to be paired." The man's face was stony, "As for what I am looking for in a wife, I just want someone who is not terrified to be within a five block radius of me. Ideally, it would be someone who can challenge me intellectually and otherwise." The wizard seemed to stare into space as he considered the question further. "Someone who could forgive the many mistakes I am sure to make and who can give love to our children, if we do have them." He shook his head coming back to the present. "You asked who I think will be matched to me, I think I know who it will be… but I will keep my guesses to myself out of deference to my future wife." With this last remark, Shacklebolt stood up one last time and concluded the conference. He gestured at both Draco and Hermione to follow him, and soon they were making their way back to the office they had vacated what seemed like ages ago.

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As soon as she had cleared the office's door, she started rapidly speaking her mind while taking off her robe and hanging it on the hook by the door.

"I will not sit for another one of those, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Am I making myself clear?" She said huffing as she walked across the Minister's office to claim the comfortable sofa by the fire.

"It wasn't that bad," Malfoy mumbled, as he took a different seat not far from the brunette's "but I agree with you, if I never sit for another conference it will be too soon." Shacklebolt seemed like he wanted to say something, but before he could an interdepartmental memo flew into his hand. After quickly reading its contents, he excused himself, told them they were welcome to stay or go as they wished and left.

The witch couldn't remember the last time she had been alone in a room with the blonde, but she was sure that whenever it had been, it hadn't been pleasant. She thought back to his speech and how he had apologized. His new disposition puzzled her; had he been abducted by aliens and brainwashed? It was borderline impossible, and yet it seemed to be the only situation that could warrant the drastic change.

"Are you going to keep ogling me like you would a beast in the wild?" Malfoy said wordless apparating a tray set with tea and tartlets for two.

"Non-verbal magic," gasped the witch, "I didn't know you could do that!"

"I don't know whether to feel smug or insulted by your surprise," said the wizard as he reached for his cup. "Care for some?" he asked gesturing at her own cup as she took off her beautiful yet deadly heels.

"Please," she took her cup, which was now filled with delicious peach tea, and then curled up in the sofa with a sigh. They were both quiet for a long time, peacefully enjoying the calm after the storm. "Can I ask you something?"

"Depends," he said putting his saucer back on the tray. "Is it going to make me feel uncomfortable and make me wish I had taken my leave sooner?"

"Probably," she admitted after considering his question. What happened next truly shocked the witch. Malfoy let out a full-blown, grab-your-belly, throw-your-head-back laugh. Her eyes must have been bulging out of her skull because, once he managed to stop laughing, he looked at her with a smirk and quipped, "Didn't know I was capable of human emotion, did you, Miss Granger?" it took her a few seconds to recover.

"I mean, I know you are a human," she started but he cut her off with another laugh, stunning her yet again.

"Merlin," he said wiping away a stray tear, "I can't remember the last time I laughed this much." Letting out a long sigh he turned to look at her, "Fine, I'll tell you what, you can ask me five questions; any five questions you want, and I will answer them." Hermione's eyes widened at the opportunity being offered and, with a thirst for knowledge she hadn't felt since school, she started the interrogation.

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 _I know, I know, it is a cliffhanger; but I had to keep you coming back somehow! Did you love it? Did you hate it? Let me know how you feel about this chapter, or a previous chapter, or the plot, or anything else! What would you like to see? What would make your day if you were to read it in this story?_

 _I am going to be posting the music that I listen to while I write because I usually pick a single song and play it on repeat. I think that each person has a distinct type of music that goes with who they are. Who do you think is represented by today's song, which was Painting Greys by Emmit Fenn?_

 _Thanks for reading!_

 _Kikistone_


	7. Dear Wife

_Songs of Choice for today's Chapter:_

 _This is the Thing by Fink_

 _Galway Girl by Ed Sheeran_

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"Were you abducted by aliens? Were you brainwashed?" she said her eyes going wide as she hypothesized, "Were you abducted _and_ brainwashed by aliens? Because honestly, it is the only explanation for the sudden change in personality you are displaying." She sat forward, her elbows on her knees.

"I will be incredibly nice and count that as a single question," he said shaking his head amused. "I actually recently discovered what aliens are, and I find it quite amusing that you would draw such a ridiculous conclusion. No, I was not abducted; I did, however, undergo a horrible process that caused my world to collapse several times over." Hermione instinctively inched forward wanting to know more, "I believe you call it growing up."

"Oh, you git!" she said smacking his arm annoyed, as he laughed some more.

"I am being serious, though," he said shrugging uncomfortably. "After the war ended and my trial was over, I couldn't stand to be here; all the things I said today at the conference are true. Being surrounded by people that loathe you can take a toll even on the strongest person in the world. In my case the hate came from all corners, I was a death eater to some and a traitor to others; so one day, without telling anyone I just left."

"Where did you go?" He gestured at her with two fingers, signaling he was counting.

"I went to America." Hermione had heard about the wizard disappearing without a trace and, while it was true there had been speculations about his whereabouts, she never would have put her money on the pompous wizard choosing America of all countries. "If that surprised you wait until you hear this: I went to live for six months in non-maj America."

"You are right, that is even more shocking." He shrugged off the comment.

"I needed to get away from it all, so it seemed like the perfect idea to go there. I did a good bit of traveling, too; I went to New York City first, then I flew to Los Angeles, which was probably scarier than sharing a home with the Dark Lord." He shook himself violently and continued. "Then came Seattle, which made me feel right at home what with all the rain. Of course, the last thing I wanted was to be home so I didn't stay long. Most of my time I spent in Hawaii and it was the absolute best decision I ever made." He was lost in his thoughts as he continued; "everywhere I went, I got to learn first hand what non-magical people were like, I got to make friends and do as I pleased for the first time in my life. No one knew who I was and the anonymity was liberating, but I couldn't stay." Hermione didn't say anything choosing instead to just lift her eyebrow in a quizzical manner. "Cheater!" cried the blonde entertained. She rolled her eyes and patiently waited for the wizard to answer her unspoken question.

"I wanted to stay, but I knew I couldn't. I actually got the idea from the Minister, you see; after my trial, he said I had a rare opportunity that not many got, I had the chance to reinvent myself into whoever I wanted to be. It took me a while, but eventually, I decided to try it and I like to believe that I am a better person for it. Deep within, I knew that in order to truly reinvent myself I needed to return home." He looked straight at the witch's eyes as if he could see into her mind. "After all, as much fun as I had as Drake Black, the backpacker from London, I knew he wasn't real. I need to come back to my home, to my mother, to my very angry friends, and be Draco Lucius Malfoy." The last part he said with a face full of distaste and for some reason it made the brunette feel bad for him.

"So that's where the clothes come from!" she exclaimed, entertained at her genius way of avoiding questions.

"By Salazar, woman, are you sure you were sorted properly?" he shook his head.

"I most certainly was!" she said jokingly giving him a mean look.

"Yes, that's where my tailored suits come from." He stood to take off his jacket and let it drop over the back of his seat as he sat back down.

"In a strange, strange way," she emphasized "they fit this new reinvented you."

"You are stalling…" he let his head twist to the side as he studied her closely, the uncanny resemblance to a snake made her beyond uncomfortable. "Just ask me already, I don't bite."

"I'm not sure that's true," before he could answer with the innuendo that was surely at the tip of his tongue, she shifted in her seat and readied to ask a question that had been bothering her. "So your apology from earlier today, during the conference, it was real then?"

"Three. Yes, it was." He sighed as the humor left him, and a flush filled his cheeks. It sounded crazy to think so, but it seemed almost wrong for him to be able to blush like a regular, warm-blooded person. She focused back on his icy stare as he began speaking uncomfortably, "every time I think about what a little shite I was to you I cannot help but cringe. Sure I was young, under Lucius' control and was severely limited by the social group in which my family moved… but so were some of my friends who never said anything to you or anyone else for that matter."

"I accepted your apology," she said honestly, "but I don't think I can ever forget the things you did; to me or anyone else."

"I can never ask anyone to forget the things I did. If I am being honest, I didn't even expect you to accept the apology. I was shocked when you didn't storm out of the room back there." He looked into the logs that burned in the fireplace, as he waited for her next question. When it didn't come he turned to look at her. "No more questions?"

"Oh I have more questions," she said reaching for her wand and morphing her heels into a pair of black flats, "I just don't think I am ready for the answers quite yet." She slipped her feet into the shoes and, with an accio spell, called her robe to her.

"Very smart of you," said Malfoy as he came to a stand and the witch nodded.

"So if it's okay with you, I will save my three remaining questions for later" he snorted in a way that would probably put his mother in her deathbed and laughed.

"Nice try," he smirked "but you cannot deceive a cunning snake. You have two remaining questions, use them wisely."

"Goodbye, M—" For some strange reason, after all the questions and the tea and the apology, it seemed wrong to call him by his last name so instead she said "Draco." The wizard was stunned for a second but recuperated quickly enough to say his goodbyes as she got into the floo.

"I don't know whether 'goodbye' is it. Something tells me I will be seeing you sooner rather than later, Hermione." She felt uncertain, uncomfortable and altogether too overwhelmed to dissect that statement at the moment, so she did the only thing she could. She took a handful of floo powder and clearly stated "The Burrow, Molly Weasley's kitchen."

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"Hermione, dear," Molly said as soon as her eyes landed on the young woman that was stepping out of green flames, "how did the conference go?" She grabbed a towel from the countertop and started to dry her hands on it as she ushered the brunette towards the table. "Come on, out with it!" the witch laughed goodheartedly at her second mum's words.

"It was… bizarre, for lack of a better word." She shrugged as she shook her head, "the press wasn't bad for once and I managed to get away with only giving a speech and answering a single question. Although the speech was very good, if I do say so myself, I guess you will hear about it in tomorrow's Prophet."

"Of course it was brilliant!" Molly said with a proud smile on her face as she gave the witch's arm a friendly shake, "I would expect nothing else from our Hermione."

"Thank you, Molly" she said and, gesturing in the general direction of her best friend's room, she asked "is Ginny home? I am beat but I'd love to talk to her."

"Oh, you go on then, dear" she said shooing her out of the kitchen, "Ginny should be in her room."

The matronly witch stared after Hermione as she left the kitchen. She couldn't quite say what, but something seemed off about the girl. She could only hope it wasn't yet another disagreement with Ron, those two could barely stand each other these days. With a deep sigh, Molly returned to her chores.

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

She heard her friend come into her room but she didn't bother moving from her bed; she simply didn't have it in her. She had spent all her energy earlier that morning dragging herself out of the burrow and over to Hermione's.

"I know you heard me come in, you arse," the brunette said as she flopped down on the bed next to the redhead. Ginny said nothing once more but at least she turned to face her visitor. "You want to hear about the conference or would you like to just sit quietly together?" The offer was sincere and while Ginny would have loved to dwell some more in her despair, she knew it wasn't healthy. Forcing herself into a sitting position she nodded at her friend to start with the story.

"Bloody hell, Gin" said Hermione as her eyes widened with amazement, "I want to tell you want happened today, but I am not even sure you will believe me!"

"If you mean the fact that Malfoy was there, I already know" she said with a shrug, "Harry came here not long after I came back from your place and he and Ron were cursing the Minister at the top of their lungs for putting you in the same room as him."

Hermione looked at her friend in despair. She could only imagine how tough it must be for her to constantly see the person who had arbitrarily chosen to pull her heart out of her chest and smash it into a million pieces. The closest she had to something like that was the thing with Ron, but that was more awkward than painful. "Oh, Ginny…" she hugged her friend with all the strength and love she could muster, "do you want me to hex him so he understands he is not welcome anymore?" Ginny got a good cackle out of that.

"You are such a laugh, Hermione," she said smiling a big, sad smile at her friend. "I can't let you hex him, I can't even let you jinx him," she lamented. "We are the only family he has left; regardless of my mangled feelings, I can't take that away from him." They helplessly looked at each other for what felt like ages and then finally Hermione spoke.

"Okay, Miss know-it-all, you knew he was there, but did you hear about him apologizing to me in front of everyone?" Ginny's eyes went wide as plates at her friend's words.

"What do you mean Malfoy apologized to you?"

"Exactly that, he apologized for everything; his words not mine." She said shaking her head as her softened curls brushed against her back. "That's not even the most shocking part either."

"There's more?" The redhead's voice sounded shrill even to her own ears; oh well, that's what happens when you cry for hours on end, wondering how life could go so wrong so fast in such a short period of time.

"Indeed," Hermione nodded her head and stood to start pacing the room. "After the conference from hell, we had to go back to Kingsley's office, except Kingsley had to go handle something or other leaving us by ourselves."

"What?" the woman was righteously indignant for her friend. "That's it, this is the day… Today I lose my mind! I am going to be sent to Azkaban for killing the Minister of Magic. Godric help Kingsley Shacklebolt when I see him next!"

"Actually, Gin, everything was fine." She had to have heard something different than the words that left the brunette's lips because she could have sworn Hermione had just admitted it wasn't a total atrocity for her to be left alone with Draco Malfoy and that was pure lunacy. The wizard had singlehandedly ruined much of Hermione's life while at school and his awful father had almost gotten Ginny killed during her first year at Hogwarts.

"I'm sorry, can you repeat what you said, Hermione?"

"It was actually the oddest afternoon I've had in a while. He performed non-verbal magic and then we had tea once Kingsley left, and he let me ask him all these questions." The brunette shrugged in bewilderment "He has changed a lot since we last saw him, Ginny."

"He could have turned into a girl and it would still not be enough change!" Ginny shouted mildly outraged at the words coming out of her friend's mouth. "This is Malfoy you are talking about, Hermione. I am sure he doesn't even know you have a name that is not mudblood!" She saw her friend physically wince at the insult, but she carried on, "Hermione, you can't seriously tell me you actually bought his act; because it was definitely that, an act!"

"It was the strangest thing, Gin. He was all Miss Granger this, Miss Granger that, and then he called me Hermione. There wasn't a snide remark or a hateful comment. I honestly was so convinced he had been abducted by aliens, that I asked him about it."

"What the hell is an ailean?" she asked confused.

"Not ailean, alien. You know, the strange beings from other planets that are believed to kidnap humans to study them, like in the movie I showed you."

"I thought you said E.T. wasn't real?"

"It's not. Well, at least we have no evidence that points at their existence—" she shook her head, "I digress. The point is that he just chucked it up to growing up and, hear this, to living in non-magical America."

"You are sure you spoke to Draco Malfoy?" She asked incredulously. "Tall, pale looking fellow with almost white hair and creepy grey eyes? Looks like an iceberg and has zero emotions?"

"Actually—" Ginny stopped her by raising her hands in front of her face.

"You know what? I don't care and, honestly, neither should you, Hermione. He is an awful person who doesn't deserve a single more second of our time together." She vacated her bed and gestured at her friend to follow her, "come on, we are going to Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour over at Diagon Alley so I can stuff my face with concerning amounts Sticky Toffee Pudding and Earl Grey and Lavender ice cream."

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

A few uneventful days passed as Hermione divided her time between checking in on Ginny and trying to decide what she wanted to do with her life now that she had taken a step back from her work with S.P.E.W. She still felt strongly about the cause and knew there was still much to be done, but at the moment she felt like her mind was preoccupied with her impending matching and that, in her despair, she wouldn't be able to help any elves in her convoluted state of mind. "What am I going to do with my life?" she asked her empty apartment as she dropped onto the couch. Her lack of productivity was driving her insane, but she knew she couldn't go back to her old job in her current state of absentmindedness. "Thank Merlin Neville didn't mind taking over."

Before she could continue feeling sorry about her current situation for the rest of the day, a large, brown owl tapped on her window. Reaching for some treats, she opened the window and quickly got her letter with one hand as she fed the bird with the other. When it didn't take flight, she knew a response was expected of her. Taking the parchment to the desk she had set up by the window she began reading.

 _Miss Granger,_

 _The honor of your presence is requested at the Ministry of Magic tomorrow morning at 7:00 a.m. for the casting of your compatibility charm. Please respond to this message with your confirmation of attendance. If for any reason you are unable to attend the ceremony, please notify the Ministry and provide a viable date and time; please keep in mind that all ceremonies must take place during the next seven days. Should you have any questions regarding the ceremony or any of its aspects, please refer to the report that was sent to your residence yesterday. We look forward to seeing you tomorrow._

 _Respectfully yours,_

 _Kingsley Shacklebolt,_

 _Minister of Magic_

All she felt was layer upon layer of numbness, and at the base of it all, she felt despair. She had always known she would be among the first to undergo the bloody ceremony, but she had thought she'd have more time. It had only been five days! She let out a sigh of unrestrained frustration. She had been right. The speediness of it all was a dead giveaway that her suspicions, the ones she had refused to share with Ginny or anyone else, had been true.

"Bloody hell," Hermione said as she reached for a parchment to respond to the summons. Before she could, however, the floo lit up notifying her of a non-authorized person trying to enter her home. Wand in hand, she walked towards the flames as she began casting a few protection spells.

"Who is it?" she spoke to the fire, knowing whoever was on the other end could hear her loud and clear.

"Hermione, it's me" she knew exactly who 'me' was, but she still didn't let him come over. Ginny's voice repeated the words from just a few days ago. "Please, allow me through. I know you must have received the same owl I did."

"How does that necessitate I let you into my house?" she asked puzzled, when there was no answer she sighed and let him in. The wizard stepped out of the fireplace and dusted his shoulder.

"Hermione," he said nodding his hello.

"Draco," she said imitating the impassive tone he always used. "What exactly was so urgent that you needed to come over?"

"By the look on your face, I would say you know already," he said doing the snake-like head bend.

"I haven't the faintest idea of what it is you are going on about."

"Don't play dense, it doesn't suit you," he said walking further into the apartment. "I am sure you have realized that we are not really going to be undergoing the damned charm tomorrow." She sighed and without saying a word she went over to her desk and wrote back to the Ministry. Once the owl was gone, she spoke her mind.

"You really should watch the things you say around owls, you never know if they are listening through them." The wizard smirked at her paranoia as he pulled a chair over with a flick of his wand.

"Duly noted. Now, are you going to say it or am I?"

"Say what, Draco?" she shifted in her seat uncomfortably as she looked away. She was clearly lying, and poorly at that.

"I am talking about the fact that tomorrow morning the wizarding world is going to flip on its axis when you and I are matched, dear wife."

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 _Thoughts? Tell me everything! I am talking to you, purplehedgehog13 and Herm. How do you like the music? Today we had two songs; want to take a guess at which character the songs represent?_

 _I finished writing this chapter at 1:23am, which means that if there are any mistakes, which there might since I am a midnight-owl writer, you need to let me know so that I can fix them._

 _Much love,_

 _Kikistone_


	8. Burns and Ice Cream Puddles

_Songs of Choice for today's Chapter:_

 _9 Crimes by Damien Rice_

 _Lost by Michael Bublé_

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

The witch looked at him as if she wanted to deny it as if she wanted to fight him for all she was worth; but then her emotions mutated into that disturbing calmness that comes with resignation and she simply stood and asked: "would you like some tea?"

"Are you being serious right now?" he raised one of his eyebrows sardonically and wondered whether his blunt statement had somehow broken the witch's mind.

"There are two things I never joke about, Draco Malfoy," she said seriously "Books and tea; it'd do you well to remember that."

"I see," he could feel his eyebrows reach for his hairline. "Sure, tea would be lovely."

"Join me in the kitchen, then" something about the way she didn't bother to see if he followed or not gave him a peculiar feeling. He wasn't sure if it was the fact that she was so relaxed around him or the fact that she gave him her back without fear; whatever the case, he found himself riveted. "You can sit if you wish," she gestured at the countertop. He looked at witch then at the countertop. After careful consideration he decided to call her bluff and, with the grace that characterized all snakes, he leaped in the air and softly landed with his bum on the space she had signaled. Her eyes were wide and her mouth agape.

"Didn't think I would do it, did you?" he said as a deep laugh burst from his belly. For some reason, this made the brunette really angry.

"Stop it!" her yell did the trick, what had he done? He studied her expression closely and that seemed to irritate her further. "Really, quit it! Enough of this nice and normal act, it is starting to weird me out."

"What in the world are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you, with your creepy reptilian head twisting and your laughs and the completely out of character behavior." What had started as squealing was now a frustrated whisper.

"Hmmm," he pretended to consider her rant, "I think I understand what is happening here." He vacated the countertop and stood; he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and stayed like that.

"W-what are you doing?" she stuttered.

Instead of answering her question, he squared his shoulders, straightened his spine and fixed his features into a snarl. When his eyes opened they showed nothing but contempt for the witch like they had for years. Hermione instinctively took a step back.

"Tell me, Granger," he spat her name as if it was an insult, "did I see you leave your wand in the living room?" he snapped as his own slid out of his sleeve and into his awaiting hand.

"I…" he could see the panic take over her features as he smiled knowingly.

"Accio!" Soon Hermione's wand landed on his open palm. "Scared, Granger?"

"Never!" she cried defiantly as her Gryffindor spirit took over.

"Then why," he said as he deflated and came into a relaxed stance, "do I terrify you when I act normal? And what is this ridiculous talk about me pretending? I thought I had explained it all last time we saw each other."

"I…" he saw shame and embarrassment in her eyes as her cheeks flamed. "I don't owe you any explanations!"

"Maybe so," he shrugged as he turned over the second wand to its rightful owner. "I didn't think I would have to say this to you of all people, but your wand should never be more than a thought away." For some reason that made her laugh. "What is so funny?"

"Hold this?" she said returning the wand.

"I thought I just said—" suddenly he saw a kettle fly onto the stove, which proceeded to turn itself on. He had to duck when the flying cups almost hit his head on the way to the counter. "You are non-verbal as well," it wasn't a question but she still nodded.

"A thought away," she smiled.

"You are quite brilliant, you know that?" he could hear the admiration in his words, but he chose not to think about it too much. "I guess that if I do have to marry someone, you are not that terrible of a choice."

"Why are you so certain it will be me?" he had to hold in a laugh when she did the 'creepy reptilian head twist' as she considered him closely. "Is it because we are both intelligent? Do you really think it will come down to something as ridiculously elemental as that?"

"Bloody hell… Don't sound so despaired, Hermione," he reprimanded. "Intelligence is tremendously important, do you imagine yourself sharing the rest of your days with some like say, that Finnegan boy, who went about life exploding things instead of charming them?"

"Hey!" she tried to complain but in the end laughing won out. "That's my housemate you are talking about, snake."

"Whatever, my point still stands." He said returning the wand to the witch once more. "Nevertheless, no; that's not why I think we will be paired. At least it's not the main reason. I just think it would be the right political move, especially if you take into consideration the conference."

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She wasn't sure exactly what it was that made her realize, maybe it was his self-assured tone or his confident shrug, but Hermione could all of a sudden see why Draco Malfoy was so certain of their pairing.

"YOU!" she pointed at his neck with her wand, "it was premeditated, wasn't it? How very convenient for you that everyone was there to witness your sweet apology!"

"Now, now, Hermione," he spoke to her as if she was an angry Hungarian horntail, "don't you—"

"Don't? Don't, what?" she said pressing her wand where it rested on his jugular. "Don't blow you into little pieces? I would get away with it, you know?"

"I have no doubt you would," he said pushing the wand away with two fingers. "I also have no doubt that you wouldn't condemn some innocent witch to go slowly insane wondering every day if that day is the day I will kill her."

"Oh, you snake…" she said flustered, "that's low, even for you."

"I'll say what I have to say so we don't end up reenacting our encounter from third year." She tried to hold it in but failed miserably. She laughed a good, heartfelt laugh. "I don't find it funny in the least, I had to use a makeup charm to hide the bruise!" If he'd said that to deter her laugh, he'd failed because soon she was doubled over as unladylike cackles and gasps for air left her. "Are you about done now?"

"I will be, someday," she said sighing and drying her eyes as she turned toward the hissing kettle and moved it out of the fire.

"You know," he said conversationally as he hopped back on the countertop "the first time I saw a non-maj make tea, I was mystified by it and asked a lot of question; which of course brought me a whole lot of trouble."

"What do you mean?" she questioned as she poured the hot water over the tea bags she had pulled out of a glass jar by the blender.

"I mean that Drake Black, the British backpacker from London had to give a lot of explanations for his ignorance in the tea brewing department."

It was only a couple seconds of distraction, the blink of an eye really, but it was enough time for Hermione to miss the cup and instead serve the boiling hot water on her hand.

"AH!" she jumped letting the kettle fall to the floor "Blimey O'Reilly!" she wailed as she jumped all over the kitchen holding her injured hand. "Oh, Godric."

A swift flick of Draco's wrist cleaned the mess up off the floor, and then he was next to her looking at the burn "Hermione, stop fidgeting, please. I cannot help you if you do not hold still." He looked closer at her hand and cursed under his breath as small boils started to appear. "Come on," he said trying to move her in the direction of the sink, but not getting anywhere. "Hermione, I'm serious, move or else it will leave a scar, come on."

"Am I supposed to trust you now?" the skepticism in her voice was almost palpable, "and anyway how would you know what to do?"

"Growing up with Lucius is not something I want to ever talk about, but if it is the only way to get you to listen I will." He said picking her up as if she were a bag of groceries and setting her down by the sink. "Would you let me heal your hand in exchange for a horrible story from my traumatic childhood?" when she got over the shock, she placed her hand in his.

"What are you going to do?" she whispered the question, but he didn't answer.

"Aguamenti!" the stream of cool water leaving his wand made her wince at first, but not long after the pain gave way to relief. "Do you remember when we were in second year and you managed to figure out what beast hid in the chamber of secrets?" the girl nodded. "Do you remember how you found out?" she seemed confused for a second, but then she spoke.

"I had been researching for hours in the library and was about to call it a day. As I stood to leave a book fell from one of the shelves and some of its pages tore off." The kitchen had disappeared from in front of her as she traveled back to that day, "I remember picking up the pages that had fallen, the one at the top was the page on the Basilisk. As soon as I read it, I knew that was the answer to my questions but I had to be careful. I wrote on the paper a simple 'pipes', and then conjured a mirror so that I wouldn't die if I came across the bloody beast. Good thing, too, or this conversation wouldn't be happening."

"Right," he said with a nod as he ended the charm and apparated a thick healing salve. "Do you remember where you were the day you met my father?"

"I was at Flourish and Blotts," she rolled her eyes, "but what does that have to do with your childhood or the Basilisk?"

"I'm getting there." He dabbed the salve onto her skin and the relief was immediate, "What do you remember about that encounter with my father?"

"I remember your bloody father dropping Tom Riddle's diary on Ginny's cauldron," she said angry still after all this years.

"Anything else?"

"Aside from you being a world class git and partaking in property destruction—" she stopped and looked him in the eye, shocked beyond belief. "You tore off a page from a book and hid it in your pocket before anyone else could see it!"

"I did," he nodded, "and it cost me the integrity of my back when my father figured out it had been me who had planted that page in the book that mysteriously fell at your feet."

"Draco," it was as if she was looking at him for the very first time, "you saved us all," she was mystified but he ignored her.

"Lucius was quite inventive when it came to fire magic," his eyes became haunted as he stared off into the distance "he punished me for an entire week because of my interference. Each day he would destroy my back and, at the end of the day, he would call on my personal elf, Nym, to cure me; just so he could start again the next day."

"Oh, Draco" she surprised both of them when her arms wrapped around the blonde and she cried into his chest, "I am so sorry, Draco. Merlin, You were just a child!" She felt his hand softly pat her shoulders.

"It's okay, Hermione," he whispered, "please, don't cry. I don't know what to do when witches cry." She let out a sad laugh at that but continued to hold him.

"I'm sorry, Draco."

"It wasn't your fault, love," as soon as the endearment left his lips he went stiff, "I mean—" she cut him off.

"Hush, you muppet," she didn't know how long they stood like that, but when they finally came apart she smiled at him. "I think you were right about what you said earlier."

"I usually am, but what are you referring to specifically?" she returned the smile on his face as she patted his chest.

"If I do have to marry someone, you are not that terrible of a choice."

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

Ginny was at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor for what felt like the tenth time that week. What could she say? Her days were a bloody mess lately, and today was no exception. When she had seen the damned letter from the Ministry she had grabbed the closest thing she could get her hands on and hurled it against the farthest wall; which had resulted in the shattering of a vase that had been in the family for generations, and a very angry Molly that had told her to stay away from the burrow until she could control her temper.

Once she had gotten enough ice cream to send her into a peaceful and merciful death, she began exiting the store just as someone tried to enter. Of course, the result of such an encounter was that she fell on her bum and her ice cream cartons were sent sprawling all over the floor.

"Bloody fantastic!" she yelled letting her body fall into a starfish position.

"Are you okay there, Weasley?" lowering her gaze from the ceiling, Ginny's eyes came to rest on Blaise Zabini as he rubbed his chest.

"This day keeps getting better and better," she said as she repeatedly hit her head against the floor.

"Should I take you to St. Mungo's?" the wizard seemed concerned.

"No," she dusted herself as she stood up, "but you could use the amazing skills you learned as a death eater and blast me to death." Zabini's eyes went wide as he frantically looked around the shop.

"Okay, first of all," he whispered angrily, "have you gone completely mental? Second, I worked really hard to keep my family away from that mess and I'd like to keep it that way, and third, I never took the mark, so no death eater skills here."

"Really?" her surprise must have annoyed him because he started rolling his eyes, "why didn't you?"

"Okay, that's it," he said taking her by the arm and pulling out his wand, "we are going to St. Mungo's."

"I'm fine," she complained brusquely pulling her arm out of his hand. "The only problem I have is that my ice cream is now a bloody puddle."

Taking in the size and the multitude of colors that formed the puddle, Zabini felt compelled to probe, "Just how much ice cream were you planning on having?"

"Whatever amount would take away the awful taste left over from getting dumped and being forced into marriage in a two-week period" she deadpanned. The wizard seemed to consider what she said and then turn to the witch handling the store who was currently busy cleaning the multicolored lake of melting ice cream.

"Sorry for mess," he apologized sincerely. "Could I please have the exact same thing that Miss Weasley had just gotten, but doubling the amounts?"

"Of course," said the annoyed witch, "as long as you promise to not spill it all over the floor too."

"You have our word," He nodded. "Please put it on my open tab."

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

 _Hello, amazing readers!_

 _Another day, another chapter :) I hope you are enjoying reading this fic as much as I am enjoying writing it. I am SO VERY HAPPY to report that I am getting more followers for this story and each time I see a hike in the number I want to cry and hug you guys because WOW! It really means the world to me that you think my crazy ideas are worth reading._

 _I will also mention that I LOVE REVIEWS. Please make this Slytherin happy by posting your thoughts? I honestly cannot tell you how valuable your input is! Let's catch up tomorrow, yes?_

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone_


	9. Patron Saint of the Intoxicated

_Songs of Choice for today's Chapter:_

 _Sonata No. 1 in F Minor, Op. 2 No. 1: I Allegro by Ludwig van Beethoven_

 _Novacane by Frank Ocean_

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

There were a lot of things for which Blaise Zabini didn't have explanations, such as life, death and what had compelled him to, not only buy the youngest Weasley five tubs of ice cream but also, apparate them back to his flat overlooking non-magical London. If the witch was suspicious in any way or confused by his actions, she didn't say a thing. Instead, she simply looked around, appreciatively he hoped, at her minimalist, yet affluent, surroundings. She asked in a raspy voice where the kitchen was and at the wizard's quizzical look, she said, "I can hardly eat these" she raised the bag containing the dessert "with my wand."

"Kip," the elf's appearance made the witch jump ten feet in the air, bringing a noticeable smirk onto Zabini's face.

"Master called Kip?" Blaise could hear the annoyance in her voice and had to hold in a laugh. Leave it to his nanny elf to be moody, day in and day out.

"Kippippins," he came to a crouch so he was eye to eye with the elf, "this young witch standing here is Miss Weasley. She is carrying an obscene amount of ice cream and is in dire need of a spoon. Do you think you can help her?"

"Oh, a witch!" the elf wailed happily, tears rolling down her face as she came to hug Weasley's legs. "Master has brought a girl home!" Weasley looked petrified as Blaise shrugged and laughed at the witch's anguish. "Kip is happy to meet Miss Weasley. Kip has waited for this day for a long time!" Weasley's horrified face compelled him to stop laughing and go to her rescue.

"Kip, please," the humor hadn't quite left his voice and the redhead's eyes recriminated him for it. "Kip, could you please bring two spoons and give us some privacy?"

"Oh, Master Blaise!" she let go of Weasley only to latch onto him as she cried happily, "Kip is honored to help Miss Weasley. " The wizard patted the elf's shoulders softly, sent her on her way and plucked the spoons from the air once they appeared.

"I am sorry about Kip, she gets emotional easily," he explained as he gestured at the couch, "Please, get comfortable." Weasley didn't say a word, choosing instead to take a spoon from his hand. Making her way to the loveseat, she stepped out of her trainers and pulled out the chocolate tub first.

"Zabini, are you gay?" she finally asked after her fourth spoonful.

"Okay, maybe not that comfortable," he said shifting awkwardly in his armchair, "Salazar, woman, what is wrong with you? I know you probably grew up short on etiquette lessons, but even you must realize how wrong it is to be so tactless!"

"I hear a lot of etiquette this and tact that, but no true admission of your sexual orientation" she took a large serving to her mouth, "unless your preference for the 'finer things' is your answer." He could tell the line of questioning entertained her.

"Appreciation for the finer things," he began as he got his own spoon and dug into the tub that rested on the redhead's lap, "does not imply alternative functioning of baser desires."

"How is that even an answer to my question?" she gestured around with her spoon, making him panic about her desert landing on the carpet.

"Please, mind your ice cream," he asked pointing at her spoon with his own, "This carpet is Moroccan."

"Okay," the witch nodded to herself and said "definitely gay." He sighed and mourned the upbringing that was certainly responsible for the lack of civility.

"More like definitely attached to my manhood," he said rolling his eyes in what felt like slow motion. "If you must know, I don't particularly care for it; but my mother went through a lot of trouble to have it brought here from Africa."

"Sure, sure," she said mockingly, "whatever you have to tell yourself, Zabini."

"Listen, the only reason why Kip reacted the way she did, is because I never do bring my women home. Let's just say I do not entertain those kinds of relationships." He wasn't sure why he was explaining himself to her of all people. Not even his closest friends would get answers to such impertinent questions; and yet here he was, explaining his habits away to a virtual stranger. "It saddens poor Kip that I haven't married by now if you want we can ask her to come back and she can lecture us both on the fact that my dear mother had been married twice by my age." She seemed to have lost her interest at that, because she simply shrugged, covered the tub and made a move for the next tub. "Done with chocolate, are you?" he asked, entertaining himself.

"I am never going to be done with it," Weasley said as her eyes widened clearly insulted, "I always crave chocolate." It was simply too easy to let it pass.

"You flirt in the most brazen of manners, Miss Weasley," he said shaking his head in faux indignation, "and to think you are getting married tomorrow!"

"I do not!" she said going red in the face "I would never… You are… Zabini, you horrible snake!" she threw one of the pillows at his face but his quick reflexes, left over from years of being one of Slytherin's chasers, deflected the projectile.

"I find it is best never to say never, Ginevra, saves you from looking like a fool later on." he said picking up his own tub of delicious goodness, "plus, I quite like strawberry myself," the redhead began flushing for a whole other reason then.

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

"This is quite a hefty load of shite, I tell you," shouted Pansy's screeching voice through the floo call Theodore Nott now regretted answering.

"It is what it is, Pansy," he said for what he knew had to be the billionth time in five minutes. "What other choice do we have? Setting up residence in Azkaban?" he shuddered at the thought. "No, thank you. I did not testify against my psychotic father to move back in with him."

"And how can Draco go all schmaltzy on us and back this idiocy!" He sighed yet again, knowing that the woman was not listening to a word he was saying. "I cannot believe he didn't even warn us!"

"When was the last time you even heard from him, Pansy?" like the witch, he, too, felt betrayed by the wizard he had called a friend since infancy. "For all we know, he struck a deal with the Ministry and is saving his own skin."

"I do not care he is saving his own skin, I would expect any of us to do so!" he could hear as the blood began coloring the witch's features in anger "What I find unforgivable is that he didn't warn us so that we could make our own deals!"

"What would you have me say, Pansy?" he sounded tired to his own ears. "What do I have to say for you to feel better?"

"There is nothing for you to say, Theo." Pansy's voice sounded defeated and tired.

"Finally," he sighed in relief, "I wasn't sure how much longer my great aunt Clementine Annabel's portrait would be able to handle your shrilling." Pansy got a good laugh out of that comment for they had all grown up running around Nott Manor, listening to the endless badgering trips the noble witch's portrait loved to go on.

"If we have to do this, Theo," she spoke finally, "we are not going down without a fight."

"Pansy Parkinson, no," he said rising to his feet from the rich leather chair. "I do not want to know. In fact, I did not hear a thing. I demand you keep me out of this!"

"Oh, shut up, you child," he could hear the eye roll in her annoyed voice, "I don't mean it literally. I propose we go down to one of the lesser establishments down in Diagon Alley, and we get good and drunk tonight, so we look and feel our best when we go in for this foolish ceremony tomorrow morning."

"As much as I would like to join you, I cannot leave the manor."

"Was there another burglary?" she sounded as worried as he felt. "Theo, you need to do something about it. Enough waiting around for the Aurors to do their jobs, it has become quite clear that they will not move a finger for any of us."

"I already told you, I cannot let the manor defend itself," he explained resignedly, "that magic was ingrained into the building by Cantankerous Nott, it will end up killing someone or worse."

"Cantankerous Nott was one twisted wizard," her voice was tinted with entertainment at whatever thoughts were going through her head, "it would serve them right to come face to face with his brilliance, but that is just my opinion."

"Good day, Pansy," he said as he prepared to end the conversation.

"Fine, Theo, don't come out tonight," she said playing the victim, "leave me alone to be taken advantage by some grimy wizard." He snorted at that.

"We both know it is the wizard that should fear the encounter, but take Blaise with you anyway." and with that, the floo call came to an end.

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Pansy found herself smiling at her reflection like the proverbial cat that ate the canary. Her tight black dressed showed off her hourglass figure and long, toned legs. The dress' long sleeves gave a false sense of modesty that was quickly negated by a plunging neckline. The witch liked to think it accentuated the fact that she was well endowed beyond her Gringotts vault. With the help of a few handy beauty charms, she had managed to create an alluring smoky eye look, which contrasted gorgeously with her red lips. Her hair brought the whole femme fatale look together by framing her face and falling down her back in seductive dark brown waves.

"Alone fun is still fun," she said to herself as she reached for her wand an apparated to Diagon Alley.

Once there, Pansy entered the lounge that Blaise and Draco had occasionally frequented when they were on the prowl before the latter had gone missing. As she made her way across the establishment, she could feel the steady gazes that followed her every movement. The appreciative staring of the men and the spiteful looks of the women came with the territory and Pansy loved every minute of it. After a few shots of Ogden's Old, she decided she was ready to dance.

"You," she said to a handsome wizard that happened to be walking past at the moment, "I am dying to dance, would you do the honors?" She didn't have to ask twice, the man offered out his hand leaving his drink forgotten at the bar. He was quite the dancer, but after a couple of songs Pansy got bored and said her goodbyes.

She decided to try her luck at a different bar, which was a little way down from the one she was currently patronizing. Once there, she had more than a few glasses of Pinnock's Gigglewater and danced until her stiletto-clad feet could take it no more. She decided it was time to settle for a less unruly crowd and made her way to The Leaky Cauldron, a tavern in which she wouldn't be caught dead during the day but that in her drunken state seemed like the perfect place to black out.

"Three shots of Knotgrass Mead, please," she asked as she took a seat at the bar. Compared to the ambiances from earlier in the night, The Leaky Cauldron was pretty dead but she didn't mind. It was about that time of the night when she realized that no matter how much she giggled or dance or drank; she was still going home to an empty flat.

"Parkinson?" The voice froze her where she sat on the dingy stool. She thanked the barkeep as he placed the shots in front of her and, after downing two in a row, she turned to face the wizard she had tried to sentence to death during her last year at Hogwarts.

"Hello, Potter," her words sounded wonderfully slurred and she felt her face smile as the alcohol hit her, "fancy meeting you here."

"Are you drinking alone?" he asked looking around for friends of her he wouldn't find, "That's pretty foolish of you, especially in the current situation."

"Your face is foolish!" she said as a laughing fit overtook her. "Besides, I tried to get Theo and Blaise to come but they were busy bees."

"You should go home, Parkinson," he said trying to help her to her feet but she snatched her arm back.

"Stop it, Saint Potter," she complained petulantly. "Why do I have to go home and you get to stay out?"

"I am here taking care of Ron," the witch followed the direction of his gaze and found a slightly drunk Longbottom trying to move a smashed redhead that laid slumped against a table, "and we are actually going home now."

"Have a—" a hiccup made her pause, "—good night, Saint Potter patron of the intoxicated" she was surprised when he too laughed at her joke.

"Are you sure you can get home?" he asked becoming serious once more.

"I'll make it worry not," she said downing her last shot and standing, "in fact, I am leaving now."

They went their separate ways, as he went to get his friends and she exited onto Diagon Alley. Once outside Pansy realized just how late it had gotten; at some point, the wizards and witches that had been out for the night had gone home and now the streets were deserted. A cold wind ruffled her dress and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Through the fog of inebriation, her instincts screamed something was terribly wrong, but before she could go back into the tavern and ask for a room for the night, a dark figure materialized in front of her.

"Well, well, well," said a creepy voice coming from under the hood of the figure, "what have we here?" Pansy felt the blood drain from her face.

"I think that's the Parkinson whore," spoke another voice from behind her "she is going to be even sweeter than Greengrass was." She started to turn away from them but bumped into a third spine-chilling figure.

"Don't you look appetizing, you slag," as soon as she felt his hands close around her shoulders her instincts took over. She managed to escape the wizard's hold as she slid her wand out from under her sleeve. A quick stupefy knock one of her attackers unconscious, but before she could get to the other two a strong slap landed on her cheek, positively disorienting her and causing her to drop her wand.

"Where are you death eaters now, you pureblood harlot?" a hand tightened around her neck and soon her vision was blurry.

"Hey!" cried a righteous voice through the terrifying fog, "let her go!" those were the last words she heard before the darkness took over.

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

 _Hello everyone,_

 _I am so sorry for not updating sooner… but you have no idea how difficult it was to write the scene at Zabini's. I wrote and rewrote, drafted and redrafted, dumped the whole thing and tried and tried until this is what I got. I am not extremely happy with that part of the chapter, but I feel like Pansy's part more than made up for it. As always, thank you for reading. Any thoughts? I love to hear from my readers; give me the good, the bad and the ugly._

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone_


	10. Foreboding and Other Awful Feelings

_Song of Choice for today's Chapter:_

 _Atlas Hands by Benjamin Francis Leftwich_

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The woman woke up with a start, jackknifing into a seating position on the bed where she had been resting like the dead for an hour now. She frantically looked around trying to face demons that were long gone. He felt her eyes land on him and noticed how the fight drained out of her and her body relaxed. She tried to speak, but no sound came out; when her hand reached for her bruised throat the wince was noticeable.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, vacating the armchair he had pulled into the bedroom so he could sit at her bedside. She looked at him confused, too many questions in her eyes. "I guess I should probably answer some questions?" she nodded slowly and gestured around the room.

"Where are we?" he asked verbalizing her thoughts, earning a nod from the woman. As he was about to answer, he saw as her eyes went wide and started frantically looking around the room. Throwing the covers off herself, she jumped to her feet and proceeded to rummage around the dresser desperately.

"Oh!" he said realizing what was happening, "Here, I have it." She turned abruptly and calmed only when her wand was returned to her. She let out a sound that started as a sigh and ended in a whimper. "Please, lay down. The healer said you should rest and that you were still at risk of going into shock. He also pumped you full of potions." She brought her hands to her hips in stubborn defiance.

"Be reasonable—" clearly that had been the wrong thing to say because soon a pillow was flying at his face. "Parkinson, please, just…" the witch conjured a parchment and a quill. He sighed deeply and got closer to be able to read what was sure to be an interesting conversation.

 _What happened to those bastards?_

"When Neville, Ron and I were leaving we saw the hooded figures and I ran to your aid," he said tiredly, "I was focused on getting to you before—" he decided not to even put that kind of energy out there and said instead "by the time I had made sure you were still part of the living, they were gone."

 _Did you recognize any of them?_

"No, I'm sorry," he said lowering his gaze in shame, "I should have to try to get a better look at them, but you looked like you were about to pass through The Veil and—"

 _Thank you, Potter._ After a hoarse laugh that ended in a pained moan she added, _I guess you really, truly are the Patron Saint of the Intoxicated._

"You're welcome, Parkinson. Enough conversation for now," he gently pushed her in the direction of the bed, "you need to get some rest if you want to be alive for the ceremony." He got a gigantic eye roll as an answer, but the witch got into the bed nonetheless. As he went back to his seat, the witch wrote some more.

 _Are you going to sleep there?_

"Yes," that answer earned him another eye roll as the witch patted the bed next to her. "Are you sure?" her only answer was a raised eyebrow.

 _Don't get any ideas, Potter. I will still maim you if you try anything._

"Gross, Parkinson," he said as he left his seat in favor of the bed; and then, as if he realized what he had said, he elaborated "Not you! I didn't mean… I just meant… You know, the idea of assault and the idea of mutilation."

 _Shut up, Potter._

"Goodnight, Parkinson."

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Theodore Nott sighed as yet another sleepless night came to an end. He knew his friends were right and that he wouldn't be able to keep guarding his ancestral home for much longer. It just wasn't sustainable. He took a sip of his cup way too soon into the brewing process, earning himself a tongue burn with weak tea.

"Ugh," he recoiled physically from the cup, as he called for his personal elf "Tally?"

"Master called Tally?" she asked with a smile.

"Good morning, Tally," he yawned. "I was wondering if you could help me?"

"Tally is happy to help Master Theo," she said eagerly, "More tea?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you could help me find some fancy dress robes for today." When he had gotten the letter, Theodore had told Tally that his room would have to be modified to make room for his new wife and her belongings. After the elf had managed to stop crying happy tears, she asked for her new mistress' name, which resulted in Theodore spending an entire afternoon explaining to Tally why he didn't have a say in who his bride would be. It was difficult to say who was more appalled at the whole situation, Pansy or Tally.

"Tally went to Madam Malkin's. Master Theo's robes are ready for wedding," he could still tell the elf was upset about the situation, but at least she was supportive.

"Thank you, Tally," he said relieved he wouldn't have to wear one of his father's robes. "What time is it anyway?"

"Four in the morning, Master." He cursed under his breath at his lack of tact and, after apologizing to the elf, sent her back to bed. He didn't bother trying to get any sleep and instead chose to go for a long run around the manor's grounds.

A couple of hours later, he stood in front of the mirror as his intense blue eyes observed his black dress robes. They fit his body perfectly, but then he had expected nothing less from Madam Malkin, who had been dressing him since infancy. Making a mental note to send the seamstress a gift, he picked up his wand and made his way to the floo. He took a steadying breath and looked around the room one more time; the next time he was in it, he would be a married man.

"British Ministry of Magic, welcome area." He said as he subdued his eager smile.

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"Ron!" howled his mother's voice from Ginny's room, "you better be up and readying, we need to be in the Ministry in an hour!" He rolled out of bed and made his way to the bathroom without opening his eyes. He could feel a craptastic headache building behind his eyes. "Ron!" he winced at his mother's pitch.

"I'm up, mum," he said loud enough so she could hear him, "do we have any headache potion?"

"Oh, Merlin, Ronald" her voice sounded nearby so he made the terrible mistake of opening his eyes, "did you really need to get plastered drunk before your wedding?"

"Potion, mum," he knew better than to go down that road with his mother.

"I will find some for you," she said disapprovingly, "jump in the shower now."

He undressed, entered the shower and simply stood there as the water fell on him. A whole week had passed and he still was no closer to figuring out his feelings in regards to this ceremony shite. He hadn't given much thought to marriage since his brief stint with Hermione had ended, and even then it had been a distant thought.

"And now I have to go through with this because Shacklebolt couldn't do his bloody job, peachy." he hung his head as his headache worsened. He couldn't remember much from the previous night; a series of disconnected memories floated around his mind: The Leaky Cauldron, ordering bottom-shelf firewhisky to get plastered, Neville's excitement at leaving his grandmother's home under the excuse of marriage, hooded figures— at that last one his head snapped up and his eyes flew wide open.

"Harry!" he shouted at great personal cost. When his best friend didn't come in, he screamed once more.

"He is not here, bloody idiot!" said Ginny's voice from outside his door, "Now quit the damn yelling, it is simply too early."

Hooded figures and a missing Harry compelled the man to shower and get ready in record time. He put on the robes he had had the good sense to order without his mother's help and went to meet Ginny in her room.

"What happened to me last —" he stopped talking when his eyes landed on his younger sister. "Blimey! You look gorgeous, Gin." She was wearing a beautiful sequined dress that reached the floor and shone gold whenever she moved. His sister looked like a million galleons, both literally and figuratively.

"It's not too much?" she asked worriedly as she finished weaving her hair into an intricate braid that started on the right side of her head and fell just below her chest on the left. "It might be silly, but I wanted to honor Gryffindor, you know red hair and all."

"It is perfect, Gin." He said honestly, and then added in a conspiratorial voice, "I too put a bit of Gryffindor on," he gestured at his red and gold bowtie. His silliness earned him a laugh from his sister, the first in what felt like an eternity.

"I'm scared, Ron," her eyes looked troubled, "I don't want to face a reality in which someone else gets to be Mrs. Harry Potter." He didn't say anything, instead choosing to give her a fierce hug, because really, what was there to say?

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"Master Draco needs help?" asked what he recognized to be Nym's voice. He sighed in frustration as he loosened the tie at his neck for the fifth time.

"Do you happen to know how to tie one of these, Nym?" he asked annoyed, "I know I could use magic, but I am trying to figure it out myself."

"Nym helps!" and with a snap of her tiny fingers, she was standing on a stool with a bowtie around her own throat to demonstrate the steps. "Now, Master, pick up this end first, pull down and cross." He had to give it to the elf because in three minutes she was able to guide him through the whole process.

"Thank you, Nym," he sighed tiredly.

"Can Nym ask a question, Master?" she asked hovering now that her help was no longer needed.

"Nym, you can ask me whatever you wish," he said for the millionth time. "Nothing is going to happen to you; if I don't want to answer, I just won't."

"Why is Master Draco sad?" her question floored him. How could he explain to Nym his fears?

"I just… Let's just say that I am uncertain about my wife."

"Mistress Narcissa said Master's wife was very smart," the flush in the elf's cheeks told him that was not everything his mother had said about Hermione; but these days he had a strict policy of not asking questions to which he didn't want answers.

"We cannot know for certain she will be my bride, Nym," he said dejectedly, "and it is that thought that kept me up last night."

"Master Draco loves her?" Nym asked excitedly.

"Master Draco dares not hope for some much, Nym," he said copying the elf's speech pattern, "Master Draco simply wants a shot at friendship and she is his best chance."

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"Parkinson," she felt someone shifting next to her in bed. She opened her eyes and met his tired gaze.

"Potter," she said in a hushed whisper that made her winced, "what time is it?"

"Five in the morning," he got out of the bed and stretched, "I wasn't sure how long it would take you to get ready for today, but call time at the Ministry is seven a.m." At that, the witch leaped out of the bed and started getting her things. "Well, at least someone is excited about today."

"Make no mistake, Harry Potter," she said crossly, "I am not excited or happy about this ridiculous ordeal. I find it disgusting that we couldn't get along by ourselves and that Big Brother had to sweep in and make us mate like animals on a farm."

"You read non-magical literature?" he asked with what looked like shock.

"Orwell was a partially magically inclined wizard, Potter," she croaked out, "he was an independent thinker who had an issue with the solely-magically-ran Ministry at the time. He knew he wouldn't be able to publish his work in the wizarding world, so he published it elsewhere under the pretense of non-magical politics."

"Huh," he said amused, "wait until I tell Hermione about that." The witch shrugged and grabbed her wand. She was about to leave when she stopped and walked up to the wizard.

"Thank you, Potter," she said stretching out her hand, which he took and shook.

"Good luck today, Parkinson." She nodded and left. Once she was in the street, she apparated to her flat where she proceeded to get ready for what was supposed to be the biggest day of her life thus far.

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 _Dear readers,_

 _Sorry for taking a couple of days to update, but this chapter turned two chapters, were particularly long to write. I wrote a total of 5,555 words, which was a monstrosity that took me from 12 am to 6 am to write (remember, night-owl writer!) and that I simply had to split to be able to make sense of it. I hope you enjoy this double update because I doubt it will ever happen again._

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone_

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

 _Dear Kip,_

 _Thank you for reviewing :)! I am so happy you enjoyed Kip's character. She is a personal favorite of mine and is going to be around from now on. I find her to be so wonderfully sweet and sassy. I don't know how long you have been around, but basically, my characters exist in my brain and essentially write themselves. Kip has a very defined personality and we will discover more about her as we go._

 _Looking forward to hearing from you again,_

 _Kikistone_

 _Dear Herm,_

 _I have not forsaken you ;) your answer is on the next chapter._

 _Thanks for patiently waiting,_

 _Kikistone_


	11. Going Down the Spiral

_Song of Choice for today's Chapter:_

 _Sonata No. 14 "Moonlight" in C-Sharp Minor, Op. 27 No. 2: III Presto agitato by Ludwig van Beethoven_

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When she got to the Ministry, the brunette was engulfed in a multicolor mess of bodies clad in their best robes and dresses. The women strolled about, some looked excited and others looked honest to Godric miserable, the same mixture of anxiety and foreboding was present among the wizards who had chosen to huddle in small groups over walking around aimlessly. She sighed loudly as she covered her head with her sentimental robe's hood. She knew some might think it silly, but her mother had always dreamt of her wedding day and so, in an effort to honor her and make her a part of this insane day, Hermione had chosen a white dress and robes.

"Hermione!" she turned in the direction of her best friend's voice. When his iconic face appeared among the crowds, she ran to meet him, jumping into his open arms.

"Harry," the despair was clear as she spoke his name, "I don't want to do this." His arms hugged her tightly, but he remained quiet; probably because he knew there was nothing he could say to make her feel better or anything he could do to change things.

"Harry! Hermione!" rang Ron's voice as he too ran to meet them. "Harry, mate, what happened last night? I managed to remember some hooded figures while I showered, and you were gone," he was completely out of breath at the end of his tirade.

"What do you mean?" asked the woman worriedly as her face took on the same rattled expression as her redheaded friend's. "Did something happen, Harry?"

"Ron, Neville and I went out drinking and Ron got plastered drunk. When we were leaving the Cauldron we saw some hooded wizards assaulting Parkinson." Hermione felt herself gasp, "Neville took Ron home and I helped Parkinson through the night."

"That's awful," Hermione said as she covered her mouth in horror.

"I'll say," huffed Ron, "a night helping that pug-faced harpy."

"Are you challenged, Ron?" demanded Hermione outraged, "it is because of these types of attacks that we decided to stand here today voluntarily. Parkinson is a victim, have some respect!"

"Well, she survived didn't she?" he mumbled earning a look from Harry who seemed like he wanted to say something.

"Witches and Wizards," boomed the Minister's voice, "please make your way through the doors at the back of the foyer. Once in the room find your seat, the ceremony will begin soon." Having forgotten their quarrel, they came into a group hug from which they drew what they hoped was enough strength to get them through the day.

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Blaise Zabini had walked in just in time before the doors to the Ministry closed. He threw a quick look around the room to try and find any of his friends, but they were likely already through the doorway that everyone seemed to be crossing. He followed the general direction of the crowd and went into a room of the Ministry he had never seen before; it was a large room that could rival the Great Hall, but unlike the room at Hogwarts, this one was set with a stage at the very center and hundreds of chairs spiraling around it. The room was full of flowers of all kinds that gave off an overpowering sweet smell that mocked them all and their realities. He noticed people searching for specific seats, which led him to believe his own would be the near the end of the spiral.

"Aha!" he said to himself once he found a label with his name on the very last chair.

"Everyone, please find your seats!" bossed the Minister's voice from where he stood on stage accompanied by the two other wizards. Were those wings on the back of one of them?

Once everyone was sat, the voice thundered, "As you may have deducted from the arrangements, we will be implementing the charms in alphabetical order." Of course, they were, because why would he ever want to be done with this ceremony before his death? "Please, remain in your seats at all times and remain quiet. If any of you fail to find your spouse today, report here tomorrow, for the next ceremony." Without much of a pause, the first name was called. "Abby Abaci!"

A woman in a purple dress that looked more like a pastry than a gown stood and walked toward the stage. Once there, the winged wizard took out his wand and, in a convoluted set of movements and words, cast the charm on the witch. For a second nothing happened, but then four strings, two gold, and the other two red shot out from the woman's heart and flew in different directions around the spiral. "Those that have been linked by a gold string, stand." Spoke the old wizard he knew to work in the Department of Mysteries. The two men came to their feet and then the old wizard that stood on the other side of the Minister conjured an equally complicated spell that resulted in a single string shooting out from one of the men back to the Abaci witch.

"Come forward, Alec Preston," said the Minister as the chairs moved out of the wizard's path. Shacklebolt then married the two via vows of fidelity, honesty, trust, and respect. "Congratulations Alec and Abby Preston, if you wish you may stay for the rest of the ceremony. Otherwise, you can apparate out of this stage." The now spouses looked at one another and awkwardly held hands as the husband apparated them away. Then it was Hannah Abbott's turn, and she matched with Longbottom. After a few people went by and the same process took place, Blaise lost interest and decided to entertain himself by passing his wand through his fingers skillfully.

"Hermione Granger!" that got his attention away from his little game. The witch that walked to the stage looked like a sickly green version of the brunette he had known in school. The incantation was performed, and soon two strings flew out of the witch's chest.

"Well, well, well, would you look at that," Blaise mumbled to himself as he saw the wizards that had been chosen by the woman's heart, "our little Granger is marrying rich." The first golden string led to Theodore Nott, and the second one led to Draco Malfoy. Gasps went off all over the place in shock.

"Decorum!" disciplined the old wizard on stage as he prepared to begin the second incantation. Before he could, however, the string that tied her to Draco burned an incandescent white and the more it burned the fainter Theodore's string became. Soon only the link between Draco and the witch remained. "Draco Malfoy, come forward." He knew Draco better than anyone else, but he had to be reading him wrong because all he could see was relief.

"Miss Granger and Mister Malfoy," said the winged wizard, "you might be wondering what that white string means," surprisingly the soon-to-be husband and wife shrugged simultaneously but the man ignored them. "It means that you two exist as halves of the same soul and that, upon your marriage, your magic will become one."

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Hermione looked at him as if communicating through her gaze, but it wasn't hard to decipher what she was thinking. He returned her stare sharing his own thoughts wordlessly. He told her that, like her, he thought the whole thing was a ridiculous cover up for the Ministry's manipulations. That it was stupid for them to even bother because it was obvious.

"I know," she whispered insulted by the shenanigans.

"I know you know," he said simply, "I just had to share."

"I also know that," she said with an eye roll that had no bite to it.

"I know you also know that," he said reaching out for her hand, which she took without thinking.

"Are you both quite done?" Shacklebolt's voice sounded entertained, but his demeanor was serious. The only answer he received was a dual shrug as they turned to look at each other with some complicity and loads of resignation.

"Let the bond that is being made here today, withstand the tests of time. May this union never break, may this witch and wizard never stray. May the one counsel with the other, may you both trust each other and may deference be your guide, for the rest of both of your lives," as soon as the last word was out of the Minister's lips a bright light shown from their joint hands and Draco felt his magic mutate into a tangible electrical current. Hermione's eyes went wide as, he was sure, she too felt her magic coil in her chest and tried to mesh with his.

"Congratulations, Draco and Hermione Malfoy." It was those words that ended the strange trance they had been in and they quickly separated.

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Ginny watched in horror as her best friend married her childhood nemesis. She hoped against all hope that such a thing wouldn't be in her future and that she would not be made to marry someone awful like Marcus Flint. She cursed the Ministry, the Minister, Magic and Merlin himself for this mess.

"Daphne Greengrass," rang Shacklebolt's voice as Hermione and Draco disappeared, "please, remain seated. You will be called at a later time." The witch in the olive green dress nodded softly as she turned her haunted eyes to look at the floor. As the Minister went on about the ceremony, Ginny's eyes remained with the witch that was uncharacteristically weak. She seemed defeated and broken.

"Why do you think they skipped her?" whispered her brother.

"I think Daphne was one of the witches that were ra— assaulted." Ginny didn't know how she knew, but she did. May it was the woman's posture and how she seemed to want to occupy as little space as possible or the fact that she had dark circles under her eyes that weren't fully hidden by her beauty charms.

"Bloody hell," Ron said as his face drained of all color, "poor girl."

"Luna Lovegood!" They both turned, looking on as their friend skipped up to the stage. Ginny reached out for her brother's hand because if this were to be anything like Hermione's round, she'd need the support. Gilbert Wimple performed the first charm and the strangest thing happened next. Every person remaining to be paired in the room got a string from Luna's heart.

"Is this even possible?" whispered the Minister.

"Clearly it is," said Wimple as he rolled his eyes, and then, addressing Luna he asked, "Miss Lovegood, is there any one person that you would like to marry specifically or would you like us to perform the second charm on the whole room?" Luna looked around the room with her characteristic wistful gaze and then she smiled in the general direction of the Ns, and Os.

"I would like for you to check Theodore Nott first, please."

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He rose to his feet slowly, more than confused as to why the witch had singled him out. It wasn't like they were friends or had ever said more than two words to each other, but the witch seemed confident in her choice.

"Mr. Nott," said the old man, "Step forward." When he reached the witch she held out her hand to him.

"Uh, we are not to that part yet," he whispered to her.

"I am offering you support, I know you are tired," at his confused gaze, she added, "you ears are bursting with wrackspurts, I am surprised you are not unconscious." He took her hand and looked in the direction of the stage where the wizards studied the witch as if she were part of a magical zoo exhibition. An odd burst of anger coursed through his veins at the looks.

"I am right over here, gentlemen," his tone was dry and his blue gaze was cold. When the second charm was cast, a string flew from his chest to Luna's. He wasn't exactly shocked by the result given his outburst, but he still wondered how that had happened.

"I knew I was right," Luna pushed onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, "you are the only other person in the room that naturally repels nargles." He looked at the witch, then at the wizards in front of him, and finally around the room. Everyone was whispering about her and that made him feel murderous.

"Silence!" he shouted, and even without a sonorus spell, his voice carried over fine. He turned to face the Minister of Magic and gave him a nod that was more of an order. The vows took only a minute.

"Congratulations, Theodore and Luna No—" he didn't bother waiting and disapparated his lovely wife away from prying eyes.

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Pansy was about to lose her mind to this ceremony. All morning she had promised herself she would keep it together, but with two of her friends gone her anxiety was through the roof. Especially when she considered their new wives. Granger hadn't been that much of a surprise since she expected her to be paired with some brilliant wizard and Draco more than fit the bill. However, the fact that she matched both him and Theo was beyond disturbing. As if that hadn't been enough, the whole business with Lovegood was, fittingly, total lunacy and had put her on edge.

"Pansy Parkinson!" yelled the Minister. She, like all other witches before her, stood and walked to the stage. The first incantation took place and two strings flew out of her chest, a gold one that landed somewhere near her seat and a red one that landed among near Zabini's. She refused to look at the wizards, so instead, she defiantly stared at the buffoons that stood before her until the gasps and 'no bloody ways' began. She first turned in the direction of Zabini's chair hoping it would be him, but she was sourly mistaken. Instead, the red string had landed on none other than Ronald bloody Weasley.

"What does red mean?" she forced her raspy voice into a growl as she turned in the direction of the cupid looking fellow.

"It means you are a match," he said bored, "but that you are both of the same type of background and thus not a viable match under the mandate."

"Weasley?" she croaked outraged, as she heard Weasley gagging from the back of the room "Impossible!"

"Quite possible, dearie."

"Harry Potter, please come forward." Her neck turned so quickly it almost snapped. She watched as the Boy Who Lived made his way to the front of the room as a heartbreaking sob left someone's shattered soul. Judging by the look on Potter's pained face it was the Weasley girl. The second charm was performed and the faintest of strings left Potter's chest and went to her own.

"It is a match, Harry," said the Minister, "but since it is so faint you can choose to sit for now and have the main incantation performed on you when your turn comes."

"If I do, what will happen to Pansy?" it was the first time he ever said her name and it made her feel, as her aunt Narcissa would say, peculiar.

"She will have to sit and wait for Mr. Weasley's turn, if they are a one to one match, they will be allowed to marry" explained the old wizard. She wanted to beg him not to leave her to wither by Weasley's side, but she knew she couldn't ask for such a thing. She already owed him so much and, after all, hadn't she tried to condemn him to a real, actual death once?

"Parkinson," he spoke quietly, "are you okay with this match?"

"It is the more encouraging of the two," she forced past her aching throat as noncommittal as possible. He looked in the direction where she knew the Weasley girl was sitting and then back at her, his eyes haunted.

"May Merlin help us," he whispered under his breath, "let us move on with the ceremony." If someone had asked her what was said at her wedding, she never would have been able to answer him or her; for she simply stared at her new husband in admiration. He had sacrificed his own happiness and that of his longtime girlfriend for hers.

"Congratulations, Harry and Pansy Potter." When her new husband didn't move, she held on to his frame and apparated them far away from his Hogwarts' sweetheart wails.

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Blaise felt the horrific sob that left Weasley's mouth resonate deep in his bones. It was a chilling sensation if there ever was one. Long after the Potters were gone, the woman cried. She cried and cried and cried as if there was no tomorrow; as if the world had ended in the cursed spiral. He wanted to be anywhere in the planet other than the damned room. The surnames that began with V came to an end and soon it was the Weasleys turn.

"Ginevra Weasley, please come forward," she walked to the stage with bloodshot eyes.

"I'd tell you to do your worst, but it seems to me you already have." She accused them and they had the decency to be embarrassed. "Shall we start?" The winged wizard did his thing and soon a single string flew from her chest to his own.

"Blaise Zabini, come forward," he did as told but he did so in complete and utter confusion.

"Pardon," he whispered, "why is it not r—" before he could finish his sentence the string in question turned the same shade of white as Hermione and Draco's. "You have got to be joking."

"The string doesn't lie, Mr. Zabini," said the ancient-looking wizard.

"Ginevra?" what exactly he was asking of his bride-to-be wasn't clear, but she simply cleaned away the tear that was running down her face.

"Your hand, please," she said offering her own.

"Ginevra!" he snapped.

"I can't do this right now, just give me your hand and let's be done with this," she said rubbing away another tear. He did as she asked and they were married.

"Congratulations, Blaise and Ginevra Zabini," what happened next was just as bizarre as the rest of the day. His wife, in her beautiful dress and smeared makeup crushed her body against him and cried in the comfort of his shoulder. His arms enveloped her of their own accord as electricity filled his veins.

"I guess you got your wish," his hushed voice only for her ears. She didn't answer but turned into his neck, "you will always have chocolate around, now." Her laugh sounded broken and painful, but her arms wrapped around him.

"Make it all go away," she sobbed quietly, "It's too much, Blaise, I'll break."

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 _Dear readers,_

 _Did you love it, did you hate it, or did you feel nothing at all? Personally, I feel overwhelmed and confused. I don't know what is going to happen next, but I think that a lot of things are still in the air… and that crises and psychoses are probably in our joint future._

 _Sincerely yours,_

 _Kikistone_

 _Dear Herm,_

 _Yes, Pansy Potter… Please, don't hate me? There are many reasons why I am not making her Pansy Weasley and here they are: (1) Pansy is a pureblood and so are the Weasleys; due to the stipulations in the decree, they cannot marry. (2) Personally, I have a serious issue with pairing Ron with women like Pansy or Hermione, partly because they would overpower him and make him look like a wimp, but mostly because I feel like characters like the unbearable Lavender Brown and he deserved each other. (3) Both Pansy and Ron are going to be influencing the story a lot, but in different ways and that made it so they did not end up married. I am guessing you are a Ravenclaw and might have an idea as to what I mean after reading the chapter. As always, I am grateful for your review._

 _Tell me, do you know what it is I am referring?_

 _Kikistone_


	12. Seeing Both Sides of Things

_Songs of Choice for today's Chapter:_

 _Chanel by Frank Ocean_

 _Downtown by Majical Cloudz_

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She took her time admiring the grand building Theodore called home. The ceiling rose far enough up in the air that the corners were undisturbed by the sun streaming in through the enormous window on the east side of the library were they had apparated. Luna turned to look at the seemingly endless rows of books when she came face to face with her new husband. He looked strangely uncomfortable, at what she had no idea.

"Are you okay, Theo?" she asked softly. Her question must have confused him because small lines appeared between his eyebrows as he continued to look at her unspeaking. "Your home is very beautiful," she said admiringly as he looked at her as if she had a hodag coming out of her nose; for good measure she check just to make sure it wasn't the case.

"T-Thank you," he stammered funnily making her smile, "not my home, but ours." She stared at him, giving him time to say whatever was bothering him so much. "Luna, I…" a whole minute passed before he finally said, "there is so much I want to say and to ask you."

"Before she died, my mother used to say I was always somewhat of an open book," she said walking to his side to hold his hand, "I don't think that has changed at all." Luna walked them both to a sofa and added, "ask whatever you want to ask, Theo."

"Why are you so calm? It's not natural," he grimaced at his own words, but she had no idea why he would.

"Because you are Slytherin, because I don't know you, or because of the Death Eater connection?" She needed a bit more of clarification to answer his queries.

"All of them?" he gave the 'Loony Lovegood' look with which she had become more than familiar during her Hogwarts years.

"I am not crazy, you know," she mentioned softly, a bit annoyed.

"I never said—"

"I am also not scared of you," she smiled at him and it seemed to put him at ease, "I always thought you were different from the rest of your friends. You seemed too much of a Ravenclaw to be in Slytherin; petty joking was below you and you always seemed upset when someone would come after me because I acted different."

"You watched me?" he sounded somewhere between shocked and outraged.

"Of course I watched you watch me," she said with a shrug, "and I watched in return. You are smart and tall and incredibly handsome and your eyes are— Why do you look like a merperson out of the water?"

"I… You… What?" his voice was loud and his elevated heart rate was causing his face to flush furiously.

"I said—"

"I know what you said, I am just very confused, Luna," he looked at her in the same awestruck way she looked at new creatures, "by everything, before you ask."

"I like to believe I can see both sides to every story. In your case, I was able to see beyond your house loyalty and killer father." She shrugged not really paying any mind to it, "there is much more to you than those things."

"There is?" he shook his head in that strange way people did when trying to clear their thoughts, "You matched _everyone_ Luna — which, by the way, what the bloody hell! — Why would you choose me?"

"I've been thinking about that, actually," she said entertained by the puzzle, as any real Ravenclaw should "I think that the charm tested someone's ability to grow to love someone," she explained slowly, "like I said, I can understand where almost every person comes from in their attitudes and behaviors, which makes me able to love everyone beyond their flaws."

"Still," he continued in stubborn confusion, "why me? In fact, how me? We are both purebloods! I mean, solely magically inclined."

"No, we are not both solely magically inclined," she explained calmly. "While I was traveling Antarctica with my father he explained that his mother was only partially inclined, and thus so was I. He had never told anyone because he feared Lord Voldemort's return, and since I was all he had left, he kept quiet." Theo shifted uncomfortably at the name and she laughed making him blush. "Do you mind I am not like you?"

"I could care less if you were part hippogriff…" he mumbled like a child.

"That's not physically possible, Theo," she explained, "Humans can mate with various creatures, like Veelas for example; but a human-hippogriff hybrid simply cannot exist, I have read up on the failed attempts of wizard and witches who have tried it." The 'Loony Lovegood' expression was back on his face.

"I don't even," he began, the paused, "how would they even?" when she tried to explain he halted her, "No! I absolutely do not want to know about these experiments. Ever." She laughed and he looked at her as if she was some kind of mystical being. "Why me, Luna?" he sounded a bit helpless and she felt compelled to explain her sound reasoning.

"Do you believe in fate, Theo?"

"I believe in self-determination, I mean I kind of have to, no?" he said shrugging.

"Why would you have to?" she asked curiously.

"Because I need to be able to know that I can choose to be different from my father, Luna." He sounded fierce in his conviction and she felt her heart hurt for the man who was now her husband.

"Well, I believe that we all are somehow fated to meet our other halves," her eyes were dreamy, "and I think fate leaves little hints out there for us to find the right person."

"Hints?" he said curious, "Like the fact that I am closeted Ravenclaw?"

"No," she said with a laugh, "but that explains why you were a hatstall. Do you know the meaning of your last name, Theodore?"

"Night," he said with a nod, "it means night."

"Luna means moon, Theo," she said simply and, at his confused face, she added, "the moon shines at its brightest in the dead of night. You are my night, Theo."

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What can you say to someone you barely know when they basically tell you that you are what will propel them to flourish in life? He tried to speak a couple of times and failed miserably. Here was this otherworldly— serious emphasis on otherworldly— beauty, sitting in his dark-magic plagued home, saying the closest thing he had ever gotten to a love confession and he was speechless.

"Luna," he admitted pathetically, "I don't know what to say."

"Did you eat a particularly strict diet as child? Maybe ate something in more proportion than your peers?" she seemed serious about her question, so he answered befuddled.

"I can have Tally inform you what I have eaten all my life up until this morning."

"Is Tally your mother?" she asked with that strange calm that was all Luna.

"Something like that," he admitted, "Tally!" the elf appeared out of thin air, "Tally, this is your new mistress and my wife," he felt pride in his heart and color in his cheeks. He saw Luna's face turn pensive and he grew worried that she was a S.P.E.W. enthusiast.

"Hello, Tally, nice to meet you" she said bending forward to be at the elf's eye level, "I am Luna Nott."

Hearing her use her brand new name before the magic even settled in the linking of their family lines did something strange to his heart. He observed her for what felt like the first time all over again and tripped all over his words as he ask Tally not to strangle the air out of poor Luna with her hug.

"Tally is happy Master Theo's wife is nice!" the elf sounded so relieved that he felt a bit guilty for not doing a better job of putting her at ease. "Tally was worried, Mistress."

"There's no need to worry," Luna said calmly hugging the elf back, "I will take care of Theo, I promise." The strange sight made him think that, one day, she would be a good mother to his children. That, in turn, made him question his sanity as he cleared his head.

"Tally," he spoke to distract himself from his precarious thoughts, "Luna was wondering if you could give her a detailed report on my eating habits throughout my life."

With a snap of her fingers, Tally apparated three thick tomes and said, "Master Theo's father insisted on recording his son's eating habits because—"

"Thank you, Tally," he said cutting her off before she could traumatize his wife into next week, "May I ask why you need these, Luna?"

"I told you at the ceremony," she smiled as if he was being ridiculous, "we naturally repel nargles. I have a working theory that this is caused by our eating habits as children."

Theodore saw Tally give her new mistress a strange look and, knowing the elf had lost her filter after he had sent his father to Azkaban, he spoke before she could make Luna uncomfortable "Have the changes been made to my chambers, Tally?"

"Yes, Master," she nodded eagerly, "everything has been adapted for Mistress Luna's arrival."

"Fantastic," he said, but then a thought entered his head and he turned to his wife, "unless you wish to have your own room?"

"How would you hold me at night from a different bed?" Luna sounded mystified at the thought of such a thing being possible.

"Of course," he said becoming convinced, for the umpteenth time that day, that he didn't deserve someone like her, "silly me."

"Tally," Luna stood up only to drop to her knees in front of the elf, "can you fetch my things from my home in Ottery St Catchpole? It should all be packed and by the door, if not tell my father, Xenophilius, and he can show you what to bring."

"Tally goes now, Mistress Luna," she said disappearing.

"Thank you," he said softly, "for being nice to Tally."

"I love all creatures, Theo," she smiled serenely, "and this particular one is, by your own admission, very much a mother to you."

"I was afraid you would try to make her take clothes," he admitted bashfully.

"I think that doing such a thing would break her heart and make you an orphan," she observed, "If I thought for a second Tally was in danger I would have given her clothes before you could blink, but taking elves away from good homes is just cruel. I am just glad you take good care of her."

"I would die for Tally on any given day," he could hear the truth in his words clearly, "my dear old father knew it and he tortured both Tally and I quite a lot because of it. Couldn't have his son being an elf devotee."

"Theo," Luna managed to impregnate his name with horror.

"It's okay," he shrugged, "I'm just glad I was able to take almost all of the abuse; usually by the time he got to Tally he didn't have it in him to care any longer. He'd move on with his day while Tally tended to me."

"I don't think I could ever even discipline a child," she said blanching, "never mind actually contemplating hurting one."

"That's because you are inherently good," and daring to show affection for another human for the first time since his mother had passed away, he added "sweetheart."

"You are good man, Theodore Nott," he knew he must have imagined the admiration in her voice.

"I… I don't know if that's true, Luna."

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 _Dear Readers,_

 _This one is for Herm. After reading Herm's review— I do read them and, as was today's case, I do occasionally, cater to my readers! — I got to work because I got this crazy idea: What if I could write individual chapters for the couples and show you the hustle/struggle going on inside their brains? So here it is, the first one of today's four chapters. This is also a bit of a celebratory gift because we have officially made it into the 1000s in terms of viewers! Admittedly, I only have 300somes visitors (readers) but the fact that my story has so much traffic makes me oh so happy! Thank you for the support, you make this story happen._

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone_

 _Dear Herm,_

 _You inspired this chapter :) and it was a complete pleasure to write! I had been reticent about writing Luna because I feel like she is such a complex character, but I finally did it and I am glad you inadvertently pushed me to do so. I would also like to clarify that Neville is not one of the characters this story follows, he will appear now and again, but we won't know much of him. You also mentioned there were core couples; if you read the story's description it lists Draco, Pansy, Blaise, and Theodore, which means the story is mainly about them and thus their spouses. I think there is a difference between those two concepts, you know?_

 _I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter,_

 _Kikistone_


	13. Turning the Bend

_Songs of Choice for today's Chapter:_

 _For No One by Houndmouth_

 _Formidable by Stromae_

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Ginny had never felt so much pain in her life, not even when that dreadful parasite lived inside her mind during her first year at Hogwarts thanks to that bloody diary. The feeling was crippling and reached from the soles of her feet to her ginger hair. She was beyond grateful when her… when Blaise had taken her away from the room.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to him between angry hiccups.

"It's okay, Ginevra," he said softly as he reached for her arm, but she stepped out of his grip. It felt dishonest to let Blaise touch her while she cried for another woman's husband. That thought caused the constant waterfalls to become more violent.

"I bet this is not the type of blushing bride you expected, huh?" she sounded angry and Blaise seemed stunted by the sudden shift in her mood. "After all, I am nothing more than filthy blood traitor!" he recoiled from her as if she had physically slapped him.

"Ginevra, don't do this," his words were soft but they were stern nonetheless.

"Or what?" she snapped in her desolation, "You hate me and my kind, I am nothing but a lowly Weasley, am I not?"

"No, actually, you are not. As of this morning you are Ginevra Zabini," he said as she witness the very last drop of patience leave him. "I could careless about the friends you have made throughout your life, or what your last name up to an hour ago frankly. All I care about is the fact that you are my wife and we are starting a new life; together, I might add, so you might want to consider rechanneling your anger in the direction of the right person."

"I will not take your bloody surname!" she shouted at the top of her lungs picking up what was probably a priceless vase and throwing it at his head in the same manner she threw quaffles for a living.

She knew she was being unreasonable, that Blaise hadn't done anything to her except care for her when she was down; but as she dealt with an insurmountable amount of grief, she couldn't bother to follow his advice and target the actual culprit responsible for her heartache.

"Ginevra," he sounded concern and, in some remote part of her brain, she took note of it, "Please, calm down already. If you don't you will make yourself sick."

"Good!" she shouted throwing an ashtray at him which, like with the vase before it, he dodged skillfully, "maybe that way you will put me away in St Mungo's and I won't have to see your dreadful face!"

"Enough!" he shouted loudly as he got his arms around her frame in a vise grip.

"I hate you!" she screamed right back as she fought him vigorously, "I will never be happy with you, never mind what that stupid, sorry excuse for a charm claims!"

"Just cry it out," he whispered holding her tightly against his chest "let it all out, Ginevra." It was his utter acceptance of the hideous things she had said that made her listen to his words. After what felt like an eternity's worth of tears her heart slowed down but the tears didn't.

"I hit you," it wasn't a question, but he still answered her comment.

"You did," he said giving her a soft kiss in the forehead that made her cry harder, "that's quite the arm you have in you, pumpkin."

"Don't call me that," there was no bite to her request, "or else I will give you another set of bruises."

"If that helps, go ahead."

"Stop being nice, please," she could handle a lot of things, or at least she used to be able to, but a caring Blaise after she'd tried to beat him like an egg? That she couldn't handle. "Call me names, hate me."

"I will do no such thing," he sounded insulted but she had no energy to turn her head and check, "Sleep." For years to come, she would swear that Blaise had used some sort of magic then because her eyes closed at his command.

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"Kip, are you around?" he whispered softly as his wife shifted in his arms. A soft pop announced the arrival of the elf and he prepared to lift the woman whose face, even in sleep, was constricted in pain.

"Master called?" she said in the same hush tone he had used and, upon noticing his passed out wife, she added excitedly, "Miss Weasley is my new mistress?"

"She is, indeed. Can you ready a bedroom for Ginevra?" the thought of his wife needing her own room stung, but he knew she wasn't in the right state of mind at the moment and tried not to take it to heart.

"Mistress needs a different room?" Kip sounded confused.

"Please, Kip?" he said carrying his the unconscious redhead up to the second floor of the flat, "she has had quite the trying day," he gestured to where the remains of what used to be an ashtray and a vase laid.

"No!" Kip ran to the pieces of the latter, "that was great grand mistress Cecilia's vase, Master!" the elf wailed loudly earning a shushing sound from him.

"Kip, please," he begged, "stop. I will fix it after I put her in bed. Kip, please! If you wake her up she will go on another punching rampage and I don't trust myself not to petrify her."

"Mistress Ginevra hit Master?" the accusation was clear in his nanny elf's voice. "Master's mother would be very unhappy with her behavior."

"Kip, you better not tell my mother anything," he said hiking whatever little weight his wife had further up in his arms, "the last thing I need is to lose my wife of a few hours to some freak accident or weird disease which we both know will be caused by Bellissa Zabini Lehner Dubois Yankov Larsen Nyman Moreau."

"Larsen Yankov, Master." She corrected with a sigh, "Kip will be quiet, Master," she said in a conciliatory tone, "Kip is sad Mistress Ginevra hurt Master. Kip is supposed to protect Master," the despair in the small elf's voice alerted him to the turmoil of emotions she felt.

"Kippippins," he stifled a laugh, "no one, not even you, can protect me from my darling wife's wrath." One look at the elf's face made him aware of her distaste at the whole situation, "Kip, Ginevra is going through a lot right now. She needs to be cared for, not disdained."

"Kip would never feel such a thing for her Mistress Ginevra," she said, insulted that he would ever think so little of her, "My mistress will be served upon by a loving and happy Kip."

"Which room is easiest to ready for her?" he asked once on he reached the second level of the apartment, "I will have to set her down shortly." He followed Kip to the room next to his own. It was styled in grey and black tones, but it had the right dimensions.

Kip snapped her fingers and the walls and decor changed to soft shades of cream and pink. "I think something less ditzy is in order," he could feel the sequins in his wife's dress digging into his skin but he ignored the prickling, "Ginevra plays with the Holyhead Harpies, maybe some emerald and champagne?" another snap of Kip's fingers and the room transformed once more.

Soon the wall behind the bed looked like it had been painted in emerald watercolors as the others remained cream; the bed looked like a piece of cloud, decorated with champagne throw pillows and the windows lengthened to become floor to ceiling like in his own room. "Light will make Mistress Ginevra happy," Kip whispered thoughtfully as they walked to set the sleeping woman on the bed.

"Can you apparate a desk in that corner, please?" he gestured with his chin as he covered the redhead with a decorative gold bed scarf Kip had added. "Make sure it matches the room and that there is plenty of parchment, quills, and ink." Kip did as he asked and when she swooned exhausted, he crossed the room and engulfed her in a hug. "Thank you, Kippippins. Go get some rest" she was about to protest, but then he added, "Don't worry, I will stay with Ginevra while you two rest."

Once the elf had left, he went to the desk to write the missive he had been eager to send out since the ceremony happened. He took a deep breath and readied himself, knowing fully well that the answer might change his whole world.

 _Dear Mother,_

 _I hope this communiqué finds you thriving in beautiful San Marino. As mentioned in my previous letter, the ceremony took place today; I was paired with Ginevra Weasley. I am sure you will be pleased, but I am very confused by the pairing. Under the mandate, my wife and I could have not married because we both have the same, solely magical background. This should have been reflected in the charm but didn't despite having done so for others. Knowing this, and taking into consideration the list of the Sacred Twenty Eight, I am certain Ginevra is not the issue. Is there something I need to know?_

 _Yours,_

 _Blaise Ignatius_

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 _Dear Readers,_

 _Had you caught Blaise's almost question during the ceremony? How are you feeling about Ginny's reaction? I hope it was just the right amount of crazy… I mean the girl did lose her would be husband and married another man in the span of an hour, that would make anyone turn the bend, I think. Thoughts, please!_

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone_


	14. Daphne's Keeper

_Song of Choice for today's chapter_

 _She Will Be Loved by Maroon 5_

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

Even after his sister and her new husband had disappeared from the room, the grief and tension remained. It weighed down on the atmosphere making the remaining wizards and witches feel strangely claustrophobic and restless. The Minister must have felt it too because, with the help of a sonorus, he announced the end of the day's ceremony and instructed those who hadn't found their spouses, to report to the next day's rite. He was less than enthusiastic about spending another day in the suffocating room.

Ron was almost to the door when he heard the Minister calling for him. He considered pretending not having heard the wizard and making a quick escape, but then he heard another voice and turned.

"— I assure you this is not necessary, Minister," insisted the small, feminine voice. Once she realized Ron's gaze was on her, Daphne Greengrass nearly dove behind Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Ron," Kingsley said in that tone that only wartime friendships could foster, "could you please join Miss Greengrass and I?"

"Why do I feel like you asking me to do so is nothing but a courtesy?" He hated being yanked around by the Ministry like he was some kind of lapdog. You help save people from utter tragedy and how do they repay you? By forcing you into uncomfortable situations that make you want to reconsider having befriended your best mate way back when.

"Follow me, please," Kingsley didn't bother checking whether the two of them were trailing him, confident in his authority.

"Who died and made you king?" Ron snorted under his breath as he gestured for Daphne to walk ahead of him. She doubted for a second and then ran quickly after the Minister. Once they were in the safety of Kingsley's office, the Minister pulled out his wand and closed all windows and cast a few silencing charms around the room. It was unusual to say the least, and it brought a whole lot of wartime baggage to the surface.

"Ron, do you remember Miss Greengrass from your Hogwarts years?" the witch seemed like she was about to break into a sweat or sprint from the room.

"Miss Greengrass," he nodded slowly, "I don't believe we ever did formally meet, I am R—"

"Ronald Weasley, the war hero," her voice barely above a whisper, "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Weasley." The formality in her tone irked him; maybe because it was so typical of the ever-dysfunctional group to which he rightfully belonged but that contradictorily rejected him despite his admissibility.

"Why am I here, Kingsley?" he said confused by the turn of events. If the witch across from him had had any other background he would have thought this would be a marriage ritual, but Harry had forced him to read every line of the damned manual on the bizarre Malfoy Marriage Act.

"I am going to need you to be attentive in regards to what will happen here today," the Minister explained, "consider all avenues and options carefully and then make your decision, okay?"

"Am I here as Ron, Ronald Weasley, Auror Weasley or War Hero Weasley?" he asked puzzled by the exchanged thus far.

"I believe all of the above," whispered Daphne. Ron didn't say anything to her, choosing to simply study the woman next to him. She was beautiful but there was something disturbed in the way she smiled, like she was constantly forcing her aristocratic face to relax.

"I do not know how familiar you are with Miss Greengrass' case through your job," the Minister phrased it as a sentence, but he knew it to be a question.

"Not very much, I must admit; I know of the existence of a case but that is about it," he said inching forward in his seat, "I am currently assigned as part of the hunting party for a couple of at-large death eaters."

"Would you mind, Daphne?" the Minister asked gently and, at the woman's negation, a file apparated on his lap.

 _Subject: Greengrass, Daphne Regina_

 _Status: Pending Further Investigation_

 _Head Auror: Michael Thatcher_

 _Associate Aurors: Paulina Cottey, Mario Bellini and Ekaterina Burckhardt._

 _On Saturday, June 5th, at 10:37 p.m., a team of aurors was dispatched to Greengrass Manor to investigate an emergency signal sent to dispatch. The aurors met with the paterfamilias who had sent out the distress call._

 _Greengrass told head auror Thatcher his daughter, Daphne Greengrass, had awoken from a brutal assault in a street adjacent Diagon Alley five hours before. He explained Miss Greengrass had been out that afternoon in hopes of meeting up with friend Tracey Davis for tea. When the witch never made it to date, Miss Davis apparated to the manor in search of her friend. Concerned for the well-being of his eldest daughter, Mr. Greengrass went out in search of Daphne coming to find her hours later. Mr. Greengrass described his daughter's clothes as 'torn to shreds'. There were noticeable bruises in the neck, arms, and thighs of the witch when inspected by auror Paulina Cottey._

 _Miss Daphne Greengrass, who had been in a state of shock until that moment, proceeded to go into hysteria and was taken to St. Mungo's. Healer Margaret Roth gave the witch a calming potion and carried out the appropriate assault protocol under auror Cottey's supervision. Healer Roth determined Miss Greengrass had been sexually assault earlier that day after her head was forcibly bashed against the pavement. The healer proceeded to test for diseases and pregnancy. All tests resulted negative._

 _Head auror Thatcher interrogated Miss Tracey Davis, but no conclusive leads were determined. Auror Burckhardt questioned Miss Daphne Greengrass, but no leads were discovered. Auror Bellini inquired with several shop owners around Diagon Alley and the street in which Miss Greengrass woke up; no findings were made._

Ron read the file three times, but the rock that clogged his windpipe refused to dislodge. Usually he found the more he read a file the more immune he became to the horrors it contained, but today no such mercy was in sight.

"Are you asking me to get on this case, Kingsley?" he asked rolling the file in his hand into a cylinder. "I haven't worked with Thatcher before, but he is one of our best—"

"Not exactly, Ron," the Minister cut his rant short. "You are here because of what you said at The Burrow when I visited last." Panicked that Shacklebolt would repeat his awful words about damaged goods in front of the poor woman, he widened his eyes silently promising the Minister a world of pain. "Not _that_ bit, Ronald."

"Which bit then?" he knew he was being difficult, but this situation was more than delicate so he needed everything spelt out for him.

"The part about you not minding," Kingsley said with an exhausted sigh as Daphne shifted in her seat, clearly wishing she could escape her own skin.

It happened suddenly, one moment he was utterly confused by the whole scene displayed before him and the next understanding dawned on him. He felt like one of those ridiculous, unmoving characters Hermione liked to read in the non-magical newspaper, as an imaginary bulb turned on above his head.

"But we are from the same background," he stated confused, "wouldn't that go against everything the Ministry is trying to do?"

"Let me worry about that, Ron," said the Minister, "I can handle—"

"Won't this send the other sacred ones into a killing spree? After all, why should the Greengrass be allowed to remain 'untainted'?"

"That's where you are wrong," said Daphne's broken voice, "I am more than tainted; I am filth."

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"I assure you everyone knows what happened despite my father's attempts at keeping the disgrace under wraps," she said in what she hoped came off as an untroubled tone. The blue-eyed wizard seemed revolted by her statement.

"You are not filth, Greengrass," her might be husband's voice sounded murderous, "Please refrain from using such adjectives to refer to yourself or anyone else. One of my very dear friends suffered quite a lot because of similar senseless notions."

She looked down at her fidgeting hands as she recalled her mother's many reprimands about nervous behaviors being unbecoming of someone of her stature. She wanted to laugh and cry at where that prominence had landed her: on the dirty floor of a desolated pathway with her pure blood running down her thighs and nightmares that would remain with her until her last breath.

"It's not the same," she whispered.

"Is it not?" he sounded annoyed, "because I fail to see the difference."

How could she explain to him that Granger's struggles with blood purity were nowhere near her own dilemma? The worth of a woman from a family such as hers came not from her brains or magical competency, but from her purity and her ability to create perfect little aristocrats. Those monsters had taken everything she could offer to any suitor and, until the decree, had sentenced her to die alone. Granger, as 'unfit' as she had been for the Notts and Malfoys of their world, could have still found happiness with another, but not her.

"Take my word for it," she said cowering from his glare.

"Would you consider it at least, Ron?" asked the Minister in the same acquainted tone he had been using with the man all day. "I think Daphne would benefit greatly from your outlook on her situation, and from the protection an auror husband could afford her. Of course, you will be allowed to partake in the investigation of her case if you so wish."

"No charm?" Weasley asked crossed, "I guess I should be grateful for having a rest from the theatrics."

"Pardon?" she asked not quite following him.

"You don't actually think Hermione could truly and honestly match both Nott and Malfoy do you?" he snorted repugnantly "And that whole, two parts of one soul? Please, spare me. If at all, Hermione's soul is parted three ways with Harry and me."

"I assure you, Ron, that the spell was completely real and its results accurate." The Minister sounded equally irritated and she felt her joint hands start to sweat as she fought the panic that promised to bring her to tears. Weasley looked over at her for some reason and must have realized she was distressed because he apologized profusely for his reaction.

"I am sorry, Miss Greengrass," Minister Shacklebolt mirrored his regret, "I assure you, you are perfectly safe with us. No harm will come to you."

"I know that," she said dismayed at yet another one of her ridiculous outburst of emotional turmoil. They happened quite frequently and at the most embarrassing moments possible; she never knew when a passing comment would send her into panic and so she dreaded every second of her existence these days, "Thank you both for your concern."

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The witch seemed to brace as she forced herself to face the redhead sitting in the chair closest to her own. What she was about to say would clearly take quite the toll on her, but the Minister admired her for her courage.

"I understand you might want to take a few days to consider the different aspects and consequences of a union between us two," it was obvious her calm took great effort to portray, "it is only natural for you to be cautious."

For a long time the wizard didn't say anything, he just studied the woman in front of him. Whatever conclusions he reached during those two endless minutes were probably beneficial, because he then turned to meet his own brown eyes and said, "If we do this, we do it now."

"I will get the others," he said coming to a stand ready to fetch Wimple and Roberts, but Ron gestured for him to sit back down.

"None of that," he spat annoyed, "I rather skip the string number, thank you very much. Good old ignorance of our affinity will work just fine."

"Miss Greengrass?" he had the good sense to ask, "do you share Mr. Weasley's stance?" The woman nodded, fear clear in her eyes. He sighed knowing fully well how women from the twenty-eight reacted toward angry husbands, even those who had never even been looked at wrong by their significant other. His own mother had never disagreed with his father, and that woman had been Gryffindor to the core.

"Very well, please join hands," once the two stranger held on to each other —Ron awkwardly and Daphne about to pass out from the physical contact— he quickly ran through the vows he had performed a hundred times that day. "Congratulations, Ronald and Daphne Weasley."

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

 _Dear Readers,_

 _I am sorry I was gone all day and that you had to wait for this chapter, but I simply needed a break from the exhaustive writing I did the day before. Which is why I find myself writing this message at 4 a.m. Maintaining so many different lines of thought, making sure there are no pitfalls in plot and the likes take a toll on my mind._

 _I feel compelled to want to clarify the following point:_

 _Don't think that I miscalculated with Luna or Blaise and forgot their blood status and had to scramble to fix a mistake. In reality, if you go to the Harry Potter Wikia, you will see that both characters are marked as either purebloods or half-bloods: "Okay, Kikistone, we will give you Luna, since anything can happen when it comes to the Lovegoods… but Blaise? He was notoriously obsessed with blood purity!" And wouldn't it be ironic that his obsession and disdain for the 'lesser' was faced with the fact that, "Oh honey, you are less than the 'filthy blood traitor' you call wife."_

 _SPOILER ALERT: the man's whole life and belief system is about to be wrung through the meat grinder, my peeps! Bring your popcorn._

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone_


	15. Tough Decisions

_Song of Choice for Today's Chapter_

 _Human by Rag'n' Bone Man_

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Under any other circumstances, she would have chosen to apparate to her ancestral home, which had just been returned to her following a yearlong investigation into the role the Parkinson family played during the war. The only reason the building had not been seized as compensation for war damages was that Minerva McGonagall had killed her father during the battle at Hogwarts and, with her mother six feet under from giving birth to her, she was the sole beneficiary of the Parkinson estate; her lack of Mark and involvement meant that she got to keep the, quite literally cursed, manor.

"Where are we?" asked her green-eyed husband as he took in the beautiful home.

"A seven bedroom, seven bathroom classically-proportioned white stucco Belgravia house in non-magical London," she said with a shrug, "at least that was the description the previous owner gave when I convinced him to let me buy it while my home was returned to me."

"When you say you convinced him…" he trailed off, letting her fill in the blank.

"I mean I casually dropped five million galleons for the place, Potter," she sounded beyond insulted by being indirectly accused of an unforgivable.

"Where did you even get that kind of money?" he asked, his eyes wide as plates. The shocked expression would have made her laugh if she didn't feel so uncomfortable. Women like her were not supposed to talk about their money and, even though she was pretty liberated from most formalities, she still felt like her aunt Narcissa would know and be disappointed.

"Where would you get that kind of money, husband?" she said walking away from him and up the impressive staircase, "I, personally, got it from a Gringotts vault."

"You are telling me you somehow managed to take twenty four million pounds out of your family vault while it was still under Ministry control?" he followed her to the second story of the impression home and into a grandiose master bedroom decorated in soft lilac tones.

"No, you dimwit," she rolled her eyes for emphasis, "The money came from my mother's vault." At his completely clueless expression, she simply said, "my mother? Cordelia Burke?" the blank stare remained.

"My mother? Lily Evans?" he mimicked.

"They weren't kidding when they said you don't read much, huh?" she said taking a seat on the colossal bed that took over most of the room as she proceeded to take off her heels. "My mother's family was one of the most important families in the wizarding world."

"I find that, usually, that statement is code for 'I dated or am married or have kids with my cousin." Pansy wrinkled her nose displeased. "Oh God, you have!" Potter said delighted in his discovery, "Please, please, please tell me which cousin did you date. Was it Malfoy? Is he your cousin?"

"Shut up, you idiot," she said going into the walk-in closet and slamming its door. Tears burned the back of her eyes as his thinly veiled contempt for her family's customs and the trying day combined to weigh down on her.

She let a single tear fall and then, taking a deep breath, she straightened her back and emulated her dear aunt Narcissa as she repeated to herself the calming words the witch had told her when she had been having a meltdown over the mandate, "Screw the lot of them," she murmured forcefully like the regal witch had, "no matter how the world changes and which trends it follows, you, Pansy Parkinson, will never be anything other than a princess. No one can take that away from you."

With a swift flick of her wand, she took off the beautiful navy cloqué gown she had gotten tailor-made a non-magical designer called Roland Mouret and stepped into one of the many little delicate lace numbers she wore to bed. With another steadying deep breath, she stepped out of the closet to find the room empty.

"Potter?" she asked the empty home.

"Me or you?" the attempt at a joke made her crack the faintest of smiles, "I'll be right out of the bathroom." She nodded to herself as she began the annoying task of pulling out the dozens of pins that had been holding up her stylish chignon. "Bathroom's yours." She didn't bother turning to face him, which was why she was startled when he gently touched her exposed shoulder, "need help with those?"

"P-Please," she stuttered letting her tired arms fall to her sides as the virtual stranger she now called husband got to work. It was a rather intimate situation and she felt her skin burn whenever he would brush his fingers against the sensitive skin of her neck.

"Done," he said after a couple of minutes, "at least I think I'm done." She turned to get the pins from him and got to appreciate the full impact her nightgown had on him. They both blushed and quickly averted their eyes. In an unspoken agreement to not acknowledge the awkward exchange, they each picked a side of the bed and got in it as Pansy, with the hit of a button, made blackout curtains close and left the room in complete darkness.

They didn't speak or go to sleep; they just laid in bed in tense silence. Close to twenty minutes passed before Pansy lost her calm and asked the question that had been driving her insane, "why did you do it?"

"I have done a lot of things in my life, you will have to be more specific." He stalled.

"You might not read that much, but you are not _that_ slow," she smirked at the darkness.

"I…" he began, "I honestly am not quite sure there is a single answer."

"Keep going, Potter," her words were harsh but her tone was soft, "I am not going to judge you."

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"I don't know how to phrase it any other way, so I will just say what comes to mind, but please know I am not trying to hurt you." He sounded winded even though he hadn't done any kind of physical activity. Pansy's only answer was some noncommittal sound. "I have never loved anyone the way I love Ginny, she is brave and she is brilliant and she is everything I ever thought I could want in a wife."

"Keep going," he could tell she was eager to get into his jumbled thoughts.

"When we finally got together during the last year I spent at Hogwarts, I was the happiest man in the world. I simply couldn't believe my luck! She had been with Dean for such a long time and I had thought I'd missed my shot but then, one day after a bleak break up, she kissed me; and I promised myself that no matter what happened I would do all in my power to court her, to make her mine."

"And yet here we are," he wasn't sure if he was supposed to be able to understand her soft whisper, so he ignored it.

"When the Minister first told us about the mandate, I was truly gutted," he cleared the lump out of his throat. "He didn't say it in so many words, but he made it clear that he expected all of us to marry in a way that benefitted the agenda, even though technically Ginny and I could have married under the statues of the marriage act. I hadn't given it that much thought, you know," he laughed drily, "because I looked into every detail and I knew Ginny was the only woman I had ever loved. Even Cho had been nothing more than a silly, childish crush. Ginny was the real thing."

"Then how—"

"I am not exactly sure," he sighed exhausted, "and I'd have to run it by Hermione, but I think that magic works in funny ways and that, when I saved your life last night, I linked us somehow and that it was that link that the charm picked up on."

"But even then," said Pansy's stubborn voice, "why not wait and see if you could be paired with her?"

"That I do know why," he admitted, "I chose not to perform the second charm for two reasons. The first being that I knew the different impacts my marriage to you and my marriage to Ginny would have. I knew that my avoiding controversy would benefit the agenda and, for once, I chose the less controversial route. I am tired, Pansy; far more tired than anyone our age should be. The issues that trouble me are the kind that no one should have to face. Truth is, I simply didn't have it in me to fight the Ministry anymore and I found it cruel and unfair to have the lot of us undergo the charm a second time just to have Ginny witness my choosing you even though we had matched."

"That's one reason," she said as she physically nudged his side making him sigh, "a deranged reason, but a reason. What is the second one?"

"The second reason is that, for better or worse, I am still me and I still cannot walk away from someone who might need me. The creepy bastards that attacked you are still out there and, I assure you, you have not seen the last of them. I couldn't leave you to face that alone any more than I could let you be strangled to death."

"You didn't have to marry me, Harry," her voice broke a bit on his name.

"I… I am fairly sure those monsters are around our age, Pansy," he said uncomfortably, "I couldn't take that gamble."

"You mean I could have…" the fear rang true in her voice.

"There was always a chance that, if you ended up in another ceremony, one of them could have matched you." They both fell into a long silence, which was only broken when the woman inched towards him, fitting into his side easily.

"Thank you," she whispered into his chest, "for saving me."

"Don't mention it," the ambiance in the room felt smothering and compelled him to keep the conversation going, "Pansy… you do know it is about four in the afternoon, right?"

"I do," she chuckled, "but sometimes I can't bring myself to face the rest of the day, so I go to sleep. You don't have to stay and hold me, though."

"Go to sleep, Pansy," he said softly.

"Don't ever tell a Parkinson woman what to do," he laughed a short, awkward laugh, "what is so funny?"

"You are not a Parkinson anymore" he cackled some more, "go to sleep, Pansy Potter." Something along the lines of 'rude', 'punch' and 'arse' came out as a whisper as she shifted and got comfortable. It wasn't long before she was fully asleep and the most ladylike snores on earth started coming out of her closed mouth. "Merlin, please let this be the right choice," he said as she pushed her nose into his chest.

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 _Dear Readers,_

 _I have discovered that trying to move halfway across the country and producing a chapter daily is not exactly possible, but for the lot of you, I am trying. Thank you for the feedback and the love. I appreciate each and every one of you!_

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone_

 _P.S.: this one is for you PH13, you've been here from day 1, and to quote Drake ' you my right hand, you my go to'._


	16. Marrying Malfoy

_Song of Choice for Today's Chapter_

 _Retrograde by James Blake_

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

"Where did you take us?" she asked confused by her surroundings.

"This is a little field I found one day while running," Draco explained with a shrug, "it's not too far from Malfoy manor."

"You run?" Hermione asked surprised, "as an exercise, you mean?"

"Why is that so surprising?" he ask grabbing a branch that had broken off from a nearby tree and transfiguring it into a bench.

"I don't know," she answered honestly as she took a seat next to him, "it just seems like such an ordinary thing to do. If someone had asked me last month what I thought you did for exercise, I would have answered you probably thought yourself too good for your own sweat and kept yourself fit with magic. No offense."

At that last addition he laughed out loud in that manner that was becoming less disturbing and more attractive, "Why is it that people think adding 'no offense' makes jabs less insulting?" he shook his head, "I'll have you know, I have always exercised, but after the war I picked up running."

"Chose the literal route for your figurative desires?" she smiled at first, but after taking a good look at his face, she knew she was right. "Oh, dear me!"

"What?" he asked taking his eyes away from the view and looking her in the eye.

"I would have expected so much more from you, Draco," she said negating with her head imitating her now mother-in-law. "You chose to literally run from your problems? Seriously, Draco dear, how mundane."

"Stop that," his face full of expression for the first time ever, "that is disturbing!"

"What is, dear?" she said doing the snake-like head bend that she now realized he got from his sweet, sweet mummy dearest.

"Really, Hermione," he said with a shudder, "my issues are not the maternal kind, this is not cute. It is completely disturbing to see my wife emulate my mother so accurately."

"Your wife indeed," she said taking a deep breath and letting her spine relax as she exhaled, "you were right, after all."

"Yes, but what was with that whole nonsense of sharing a soul?" he said bothered, "it was completely unnecessary."

"I guess that was the only way they thought they could justify my ever loving you," she said with a shrug. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw some emotion go over his face, but it was gone when she looked closely. "In any case, I hope that the whole 'your magic will become one' is nothing but a load of rubbish, did you…"

"Did I feel my magic moving?" he said with a gulp and a rattled look, "yes, I did. Maybe everyone else did too, though. I don't know what getting married feels like for the general population."

"I wish we could have stayed longer," she sighed, "I could have asked Harry and Ron, or you could have asked your friends."

"Maybe," his tone was vague, "whom do you think they matched?"

"Harry and Ron?" he nodded, "I hope Harry matched Ginny because, otherwise, you will have to deal with a stowaway at our place. Not sure which one would take it the hardest, probably Ginny. Ron will probably match some random Hufflepuff that will be a good cook and will want to have a million redheaded children."

"Do you wish it was you?" Draco's tone could only be described as neutral; it was strangely barren of emotion or inflection.

"Godric, no." She said honestly, "After the war, I quickly realized that Ron and I weren't meant to be. He was sweet, caring, protective, but also? I knew him and well at that. There was no growth for us to do together because we'd already done that over the years. He was nothing more than a caring friend, I had more chemistry with Viktor."

"First name bases still?" he asked sardonically.

"Yes, he is a good friend of mine," she said contemptuously, "it is nice for the both of us to know that the other is in it for the friendship and not for the fame or fortune that the friendship could potentially bring."

"Note to self," Draco said entertained, "get a couch big enough to fit Hermione's clique comfortably."

"I'm sure whatever is at Malfoy manor is lavish enough." She tried to smile but the anxiety she got when she thought about the mansion where she had been tortured by his psychotic aunt was obvious.

"Who said anything about Malfoy manor?" Draco said offering her his hand so she could stand. They started walking further into the green fields and the bench turned back into a branch.

"We are married, Draco," she said trying to prevent her heels from digging into the grass as she walked with him, "and I am sure my small flat is not going to be spacious enough to fit the many things you need so your daily life doesn't fall apart, thus Malfoy manor."

"I'll have you know, madam, that I lived as a backpacker for six months," he offer his arm to her to help with balance, "but you are right, your flat would not be an appropriate place for the new Mrs. Malfoy."

"Hush," she said covering his mouth with her palm, "I still find your family terrifyingly questionable and need time to come to terms with the fact that I am now related to Lucius Malfoy." He bit her hand causing her to jump in surprise, "ugh, you snake!"

"We are not living in Malfoy manor, Hermione," he said waving his wand at the field. It was like a mirage in the desert, one second it was nothing but rolling green hills and the next there stood a beautiful house surrounded by luscious gardens full of red carnations as far as the eye could see. It was made out of tan stones and had at least eight chimneys. "I had this home built while I was away in America."

"Draco, it is positively gorgeous!"

"I am glad you like it," the relief was palpable in his tone, "I had all the flowers put in when I returned from your flat the other day."

"They are beautiful, it makes the house look like it belongs somewhere in the south of France. Is there a particular reason you chose the single flower?"

"I…" he paused as if wanting to say more, but then settled for, "red and green."

"You were that sure it would be me?" she said strangely touched by the gestured.

"The only other politically enticing option was Potter," he said making them laugh loudly, "and the flowers would have work in that case, as well."

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"The house is three stories tall, but the ceilings are of a regular height which makes it cozy," he said as he showed her the sitting room where he had started having his tea now that he had moved. "There are four social areas, this one, the living room, the library and the deck out in the garden."

"Is that all?" she asked amused, "how will we ever be able to entertain people in such limited space?"

"Clever," he chuckled as he pointed in the regular direction of one of the many corridors "The kitchen has a view of the garden and has been stocked with all the non-magical appliances you might want." He showed her to up the stairs, "there are five rooms, all with attached bathrooms. The master bedroom is right at the end of the hall and faces the East."

"Doesn't the sunrise bother you in the mornings?" she asked a bit winded from the stairs.

"I am usually up to watch the sunrise, so not at all," he shrugged, "if it bothers you we can have a different room readied for us." He hoped she wouldn't just move by herself to another room, but he wasn't about to deny her privacy.

"How long have you been actually living in this place? There is not a single picture anywhere."

"The project had to be rushed and was completed about two weeks ago," he said matter-of-factly, "I guess you could say I moved in with the flowers. As for the lack of decorations, I thought you might enjoy doing that part."

"Are you saying that because I am woman?" her raised eyebrow hinting at her irritation.

"I say that because you will live here too," he said impassively, "I find that decorating the house, choosing the wall colors, the furniture… it helps make the house feel like a home."

"Why did the project have to be rush?" she asked turning to look away from him, probably ashamed at having thought ill of him.

"Isn't it obvious?" she gave him a funny glare as she negated with her head, "I couldn't have you living in that bloody place. If my mother wasn't so attached to it, I would have knocked it to the ground as a wedding gift to you." He gazed into her eyes trying to determine how she was feeling about the marriage, the house, the comment, and life in general, but found very little. "How are you feeling?"

"Extremely overwhelmed, and mildly choked by the dress and robe," she said honestly, "can you show me where our room is? I need to get out of my dress."

"Wait, before you do that," he said making a camera appear using nonverbal wandless magic, "would you mind if we took a photo?"

"It's terrifying how good you are at that," she said as she came to stand next to him, "Does my hair still look nice?"

"You look beautiful," he chose to fidget with the camera instead of looking her in the eye. Once he had levitated the camera at the correct angle, he spoke "it is going to take more than one shot, so if you want to change your smile or pose you can do so between shots."

The first picture went off before either one was ready, which sent them both into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. When the next flash went off Hermione made a goofy face and then Draco followed suit. Three more flashes went off and it became clear there would be no composed pictures for the day.

"Can we see them now?" she sounded like a kid on her birthday, excited to get to her gifts.

"Maybe after you have changed out of the dress," he said taking her by the hand and guiding her to the room that would be theirs, "as lovely as you look in ivory satin, you also look like you would enjoy not being so constricted."

"Did you really like it?" Hermione seemed surprised as she looked down at her dress, "it's not what most witches would have chosen."

"You look absolutely regal, I would have bet the dress was made for your curves by a seamstress, but your reaction makes me think the opposite."

"I… I chose it because it reminded me of my mum," her eyes became sad, "she always loved weddings, you see? When I was little, we used to play at planning my wedding." He didn't know what to say, so instead, he just squeezed her arm softly. "She always liked this kind of dress, A-line, off the shoulders, with sleeves that covered down to the elbows and a train."

"I am sure she would have been delighted if she could have seen you today," it was no secret that Hermione Granger had lost her parents to the war and an excessively efficacious obliviate spell, so he didn't dwell on the topic. "I notice the long line of buttons going down your back, would you like some help?"

"You wouldn't mind? Oh, thank Merlin," she said sagging with relief taking off her robe, "it was hell getting in this thing. I couldn't remember the correct spell and had to do each one individually." He held onto her shoulders and gently turned her to get to work. "Are you going to do it by hand?"

"Problem?" he said as he unhooked the first one.

"It's just so…" she trailed off as the second and third were quickly undone. With every button that came undone, more soft skin became exposed. Looking at the ever-growing expanse of bare skin he had to remind himself time and time again that while this woman was his wife, she wouldn't doubt to petrify him if he stepped out of line.

"Intimate?" he completed as he kept at it, already down to the middle of her back where her delicate white lace bra showed. "I am sure we can both be grown ups about it."

"Are you missing many?" her voice sounded hoarse suddenly, and he knew that if he were to look into her brown eyes, he would find yearning. To test his theory he planted his hand in between her shoulder blades, causing the woman to hiss in surprise.

"I am almost all the way down your back," he whispered brushing his hand down the skin and getting back to work. A few buttons later the woman sprang away from him.

"I can get out now, no need to keep going," she looked flushed and her eyes were erratic, "I am going to be apparating my baggage into the bathroom so I can change," he nodded as he went over to the camera.

"I will get the photos and amend the wards while you do that," she nodded and stormed into the bathroom. "You just had to go and touch her, didn't you? By Salazar, Draco," he whispered to himself as he casted the spell to get the photos. He flew them straight onto her nightstand and then stepped out of the room under the excuse of working on the wards.

The hand that had touched her naked back burned with the same electricity he had felt during the ceremony. He made a mental note to ask her another time if she too had felt it. He was starting to believe that, maybe, just maybe, their magic had indeed become one to be shared between the two. "Poor Hermione," he lamented out loud as he made sure to adjust the wards to allow their friends easy passage into their home, "she spends all her life cultivating and growing her magic all to possibly get stuck sharing it with me."

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 _Dear Readers,_

 _Two chapters, one day! I was feeling inspired and wanted to get this Dramione chapter out. Some of you asked me for more details on Hermione's dress, and I have adapted this chapter to show those fluffy details._

 _Things are getting a little more mature, slowly but surely. Please, remember this is an M rated fiction, not MA (which are not allowed by fanfiction) and thus we will be hopefully getting some interesting chapters in the future but nothing too extreme._

 _I might be gone for a couple of days, but just because this next chapter is going to take the mother of all tolls on this author._

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone._

 _P.S.: special shout out to petulantpages, thanks for reading!_


	17. The Relative Calm After the Storm

_Song of Choice for Today's Chapter:_

 _Slip by Elliot Moss_

 _Iron by Woodkid_

 _Love Runs Out by OneRepublic_

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Narcissa Malfoy had never been one to waste time away by staying in bed after she woke up. A lifetime of Black breading combined with the two decades she had spent in Malfoy manor had resulted in the witch never resting past six in the morning, a trait shared by both her husband and son. In the past, the three would sit together in the formal dining room for a full meal during which her husband would read the paper and make nagging inquiries at her son while she worked on her daily agenda.

These days, however, her atypical sleep patterns meant that by seven o'clock in the morning she found herself in her personal reading room ready to take on the day as she broke her fast accompanied solely by the Daily Prophet. Her previously cramped social life had taken a back seat following the first couple of attacks against the Sacred Families. Her activism and fearlessness had landed her the position of spokesperson quickly, a role she took seriously.

"Nym?" she said softly not wishing to strain her voice.

"Mistress called?" the short elf asked diligently.

"Any word from Draco?" she asked picking up the newspaper the elf had attentively set by her eggs benedict and toast for the first time that morning. "I want to know how the ceremony—"

Before the witch could finish her comment her eyes landed on a series of pictures, which included one of her only son and the Granger witch on the front page of the paper. Her eyes scanned the ink with eager efficiency.

 _Yesterday morning the Ministry was the bustling setting in which the first fifty wizards and witches that married under the Malfoy Marriage Act underwent their binding ceremony. Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt introduced the marriage mandate earlier in the month in a radical effort to unify the British wizarding community. The controversial act was implemented with the blessing and support of reformed Death Eater Draco Malfoy and war heroine Hermione Granger; more on these two later._

 _The ceremony was a rather practical affair that resulted in most couples marrying and disapparating away before a single picture could be taken of them. As expected, the ceremony was everything but uneventful; there were many surprising pairings during the first rite that forms part of a larger series of ceremonies that will take place as the week progresses. Among the more extraordinary couples is that of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger who, aside from sharing quite an extensive and convoluted history, were the first couple to be declared soul mates._

 _The ambiguity behind the functioning of soul mates has marked the international magical community for eons as one of the unsolvable mysteries in magical history. Very little is known of this kind of bond other than the wisdom imparted by Gilbert Wimple, the peculiar head of the Ministry's Committee for Experimental Magic who was sporting white wings at the event yesterday. Wimple explained to Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy that, once married, they would share not only a single soul but that their magic would, too, become one. The second, and last, couple to be declared such was Ginevra Weasley and Blaise Zabini; a couple so very truly controversial it is hard to know where to begin…_

"Brilliant!" her laugh bounced off the walls of the room happily, "clever, clever son of mine! Nym, please, send word to Draco that he and his wife are invited to dinner at the manor tonight."

"But Mistress," whispered the elf uncomfortable with her inability to obey the command instantly, "Master said he was moving so his new wife never had to—"

"Right, the torture," she sighed trying to think of a better option, "I know, there is a new Italian place that just opened over in Whitehall that is all the rage among the families. Please make reservations for the night Draco and… Hermione... find the most convenient of the current week."

"Yes, mistress," Nym said before disappearing as the witch conjured quill and parchment.

 _Greetings,_

 _May this letter find you well and thriving. Today I write in order to place a formal request for a list of the newly married couples that include wizards and witches of solely magical background. Our community would like to inquire with the couples as to their wellbeing and to try and plan a possible common wedding celebration welcoming their new spouses into our families to foster diversity and inclusion._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Narcissa Malfoy_

With a flick of her wrist, the letter disappeared from her desk as she returned to her luckily still warn food. Taking a sip from her breakfast tea she sighed contently to herself, "Hermione Malfoy."

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Ginny woke up outright disoriented by both her surroundings and the angry pounding behind her eyes. A pained moan left her throat as she tried to hide her face from the massive amounts of daylight filtering in through the panoramic windows to her left.

"Merlin, kill me now," she whined loudly causing her to regret her choice instantly, "flip flippering flipping hell."

"Your prose could bring the heartless to tears, Ginevra," sassed Blaise from an armchair in the corner of the room. He walked toward her slowly as if he was scared of her. It had meaning, but she couldn't remember what it meant.

"Ginny," she corrected softly, "please, tell me you have something for this pain," she was holding her skull together with the help of both her hands.

"Ginny is a Yorkshire terrier or a bratty four year old girl," he said signaling with a hand for her to allow him enough space to seat, which she did at astronomical personal expense, "Ginevra is a beautiful, strong woman."

"A beautiful, strong woman whose head is trying to implode," she complained pained, "potion, please." He reached for the nightstand and soon a vial was in her hand. "Thank you," she said after downing it like a shot.

"You'll feel better when you eat something," his soft tone and demeanor juggled her brain. She stared at him in stunned silence as she was overtaken by the events of the previous day. "If you need to cry, that's fine," if possible, his voice became even softer, "just, please, don't fight me."

"Did I hurt you?" she said reaching out for his chest where she had pummeled him, "I am not exactly proud of what I did… or sure of why I did it. I'm sorry."

"Are you feeling a bit better?" he ignored her question.

"Headache or heartache wise?" she sighed at her own grouchiness, "my brain is no longer trying to escape my head, so that's good. I guess my heart feels numb. Empty." He seemed to understand her feelings so she asked, "did you have to give someone up, too? I know you said you don't stick to a single woman but—"

"That was then, this is now. Infidelity does not sit well with me," he said seriously, "as for your question, you are my only… let's call it romantic interest, shall we?"

"Oh, Godric," she said closing her eyes forcefully in distaste, "you sound like my great aunt Muriel when you speak like that. You somehow managed to make it sound like I am your proper wench, which is ridiculous and paradoxical. I have a title, whether we like it or not. Use it."

"Will do," his voice sounded entertained at her musings. "Wife," he mocked her, "we need to have a very serious conversation."

"Not before coffee, we don't," she said getting out of the bed to find herself still in her wedding dress. "Don't look at me!" she ordered putting up her hands to block his gaze, "I probably look dreadful."

"Shut up," he said getting a hold of her hand, "you look perfectly fine. If you wish to shower all your products are in the bathroom. Your mother flooed in your things at the crack of dawn and Kip readied everything for you."

"May she live many, many years," and with that Ginny disappeared into the bathroom where a cup of steaming coffee awaited. "I love you, Kip!"

Once she was out of the shower and in clean clothes she went in search of her… husband. Even sounding it out in her head felt strange, but she told herself to deal with her new normal. After all, it was here to stay.

"Blaise?" she asked once she reached the living room where she had eaten the ice cream what felt like a lifetime ago. Pop!

"Mistress Ginevra," curtsied the elf, "master Blaise is not home."

"What do you mean? Where did he go?" she asked looking around the room as if he was going to pop out of the sofa.

"Kip knows he is with Draco Malfoy, mistress," she said looking at the floor in shame.

"Kip," she narrowed her eyes, "what are you not telling me?"

"Baron brought Master Blaise letter," the elf said shifting guiltily. "When Master Blaise dropped it and left, Kip read it."

"Who is Baron?" Ginny asked confused, "what letter?" the elf snapped her fingers and a crumpled letter appeared in the witch's hand.

 _Dearest Blaise Ignatius,_

 _It was my sincerest wish that you never did find out of this most disgraceful condition of yours. I am afraid your conjectures are not misguided and that this is the legacy of your wretched father. At the time, I was not aware and when I found out the truth… well, you remember how saddened we were all to see him go through The Veil._

 _I am most proud of your having secured such a worthy bride. While not a Greengrass or a Parkinson, the Weasley girl will do wonderfully in helping with your lineage predicament._

 _Well done, son,_

 _Mother._

Ginny had to read the letter three times before she could understand what the infamously deadly witch was going on about. She remembered Blaise had wanted to talk about something earlier and felt foolish at having disregarded him.

"You said he went to Malfoy manor," she confirmed with the elf.

"No, mistress!" she rolled her eyes in that absolutely Kip style, and slowly explained, "Master Blaise says 'Draco and Hermione Malfoy's house' not Malfoy manor."

"What is the difference between the two?" the elf's judging gaze spoke volumes, "Fine, Kip, got it."

"Good day, mistress Ginevra," she bowed as Ginny nodded.

"Draco and Hermione Malfoy's house," as an afterthought she said, "the main foyer!" The last thing she needed was to apparate on the roof or inside a closet.

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"Draco!" Blaise's screams were coming from the main entrance of his home, "Draco, where are you?" When he heard his friend's stomps start climbing the stairs he exited his office, which was on the main floor.

"Over here, Blaisey boy," he said tiredly as the tanned man turned to face him. "Quit it with the infuriating yapping, you will wake Hermione up and something tells me she won't be happy if you do."

"Right," he said sliding down the railing and landing gracefully, "sorry about that. How are things with Miss brainy two shoes?"

"Careful, Zabini," to anyone else, the wizard would have sounded calm but his childhood friend knew better. "What brings you over?"

"I didn't know where else to go," it was the first time since the war that he saw Blaise so distressed. His eyes were wild and his breathing was erratic.

"Please tell you didn't kill whoever your wife is," he said only half-jokingly, "my reputation cannot handle another scandal, mate."

"Nothing like that, git," he said flippantly "Ginevra is not the problem, well, not the main problem anyway."

"Weasley?" he said shocked, "Oh, that is rich! Blaise Zabini, married to the, what was it you used to call her? Filthy blood traitor, was it?"

"You are one to talk," he sounded indignant "a bloody death eater married to Mudblood Granger."

It was a swift movement that the man couldn't have avoided if he had wanted; one second they were facing each other and the next Draco had him in a headlock from the back as he dug his wand into his childhood friend's neck.

"Fancy repeating that, Blaise?" his voice was soft in the wizard's ear.

"If you kill me, you will end up in Azkaban, mate" he cautioned a bit out of breath.

"I have trouble believing the Ministry will worry much about the passing of yet another one of us." He said tightening his hold around his friend's neck before letting go. "But I am rather fond of you, arse as you might be."

"That's the thing, Draco," he said not bothered or upset in the least by the platinum blonde's outburst of physical violence. "I always thought 'I was one of us', but apparently I am not 'one of us' at all!"

"Blaise, you aren't making any sense, mate." He said gesturing for the distraught wizard to follow him into his office. Once they had settled into their seats, he probed "what do you mean you aren't one of us?"

"Exactly that, I am not one of us," he said exasperated, "one of you? I am only half-blood, Draco."

"That is utterly ridiculous, Blaise," Draco tried to transmit his friend some level of calm certainty but it wasn't working. "My parents wouldn't have allowed us to be friends, Blaise."

"Drake, I mean it," his friend said convinced. "I am partially magically inclined."

"How?" Draco asked leaning forward as he conjured a shot of his best firewhisky for his friend, "Blaise, you were almost marked by the bastard, you can't be half-blooded."

"Oh, but I can," he shrugged, "I always wondered how my mother acquired her taste for deathly accidents. Apparently, my father lied about his lineage and got away with it long enough to marry my mother and have me. The fool never imagined it would get him killed, I guess."

"Huh," Draco said simply, "I guess I will have to give Theo the house in the Alps after all."

"Uh, what?" asked Blaise confused by the turn the conversation had taken, "What are you talking about?"

"During third year Theo and I made a wager on whether or not your father had passed of natural causes," he admitted with a shrug, "never mind that, though. Why is this a big deal? I could argue that, if anything, your blood status means you will be left out the dreadful attacks."

"I am officially not good enough for either side, Draco!" he admitted panicked, "not pure enough for your side and too pure for the other side."

"It won't matter much longer if the Ministry succeeds," Draco watched as his friend downed the liquor, "it really is not a big deal."

"Oh, sure," Blaise said nonchalantly, "never mind that all my life has been a lie!" At the shout, the former death eater scrunched up his face in aversion.

"You are Blaise Zabini, so act like it; don't go around—"

"Hermione! Blaise!" cried the voice he knew belong to Ginny Weasley, err, Zabini. "Hermione?" she turned to face the men as they came out of the office, "oh."

"What is it with you Zabinis and coming over uninvited while shouting at the top of your—"

"Ginny?" shrieked his wife's voice from upstairs, "Ginny, is that you?"

"It is!" Draco already regretted changing the wards and it had been less than twelve hours.

"I'll be right down!" he could almost see Hermione running into the room and getting into the first clothes she touched. Soon the woman was shuffling down the staircase as she struggled her hair into a ponytail. "Gin!"

"Hi," the redhead said hugging Hermione with noticeable force.

"How about we take this reunion out to the deck so we can have breakfast?" he suggested, equal parts annoyed and entertained.

"Yes, that'd be great. I haven't had anything yet and neither has Gin—" before Blaise could finish his sentence a loud pop announced the arrival of Nym.

"Master Draco," she said with a big smile as Hermione's loud, outraged gasp filled his ears. "Mistress Narcissa invites you and wife to dinner."

"DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY!" thundered his wife's voice as he closed his eyes in apprehension.

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Theodore ran the perimeter one last time before he called it a night —a day, really— and went into the manor for a shower. He entered the room he now shared with Luna and walked into the bathroom quietly. He let the water run as hot as possible as he undressed; when he finally got under the steaming stream he sighed out in relief as his shoulders relaxed a bit for the first time in hours. He hung his head tiredly while he maintained his balance by holding onto the wall.

"You know, hot showers are great for your blood circulation and sleep deprivation," Luna's voice made him jump as he turned to face the naked woman. One look at her and he had to turn away to hide just how good his circulation was at the sight of her nakedness.

"What are you doing?" he said baffled, aroused and more than a little embarrassed.

"I thought it was obvious," she made a confused face and then added like it was the most normal thing in the world, "I am here so I can shower with you."

"Right," he said still facing away from her, "Did you sleep well?"

"Are you not going to look at me?" she seemed entertained by his struggle as he gulped and turned to face her. "Better," she said appreciatively, "much better."

"I… You…" he wasn't even sure what he was trying to say, but it seemed inappropriate to gawk at her luscious curves, even if they were married.

"Theo," she said in a soft tone that matched her smile, "it's okay to look at your naked wife. Rowena knows I am not exactly closing my eyes, are these real?" she asked feeling up the marked indentations between the muscles in his stomach.

"They are and I am just trying to be polite," he said feeling his face's temperature to raise that of the stinging water. Luna's pale hand reached out again, this time for his own hand, and he obliged the unspoken request.

"Politeness is noble, but it is also dull, my sweet night," she pulled on his other wrist and put both his hands on her hips.

He hear his panicked gulp, "you are going to be the death of me, aren't you?" His spouse laughed at that.

"How about we just start with a _petite mort_?"

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The nightmare was all too familiar. She was in the alley, but instead of being midafternoon it was dark and she could barely see the buildings just a block down. The sky roared with angry thunder and lightning as the temperature suddenly dropped. She knew what came next, but she was still petrified and engulfed in a sea of fear. The first hooded figured appeared and she felt the life drain out of her as she struggled to wake up.

"Daphne Greengrass?" it asked in a sultry voice that rubbed her the wrong way.

"Who are you?" she felt her lips ask as she screamed at her legs to move without success. She was trapped in her brain, as was always the case with the awful dream.

"No one worthy of you pretty little self," said another hooded figure, "but I don't think he cares, do you?"

"Not in the very least," said a third figure that had materialized out of thin air. The first figure stepped into her personal space and grabbed onto her arms with great strength, she knew bruises would remain for days to come.

"Pretty little Daphne, always so proper, always better than everyone else," he said as he licked her face from her chin to her brow. She tried to flinch away from his horrid touch but only managed get slapped.

"Now, Now," said the second monster, "don't spoil the goods just yet. I don't want to fuck a disfigured bitch."

"No," she cried as she tried to get away from them to no avail. "Please, I have done nothing to you!"

"Oh, but you have," said the third, "you and all your pure blooded friends have. It's time for you to pay for what you've done."

"Please," she said as she pulled her wand out and managed to escape the painful grip of the man. "I do not wish to harm anyone, just let me leave." Their laughs mocked her and tears fell from her eyes, "please, don't hurt me."

"Oh, we are not going to hurt you, doll face," said the third figure, "we are just going to show you what it feel like to be with a real wizard, or should I say wizards?"

"No!" she flicked her wristed and the man cursed as he was hit with an impedimenta spell.

"You whore!" cried another one as he ran at her with the rock she knew would put her out in a second.

"DAPHNE, WAKE UP!" she both felt and heard Ronald Weasley shout in her face. Her tear-filled eyes opened but everything was blurry. "It's okay," he said as he held her shaking form, "you are safe, I have you."

Those simple words sent her over the edge as all the tears she hadn't cried and all the grief she had hidden from her family left her. She cried for herself, she cried for the horrible injustice she had suffered, and she cried for her new husband how had never asked for any of this.

"It's okay to cry," he whispered softly in her ear, "I will not let you go until you are ready." She cried for what felt like a lifetime as she let the fear, anxiety, dread, and pain truly drain out of her. "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm so sorry," she said between hiccups as she pulled herself away from him, "you must think I'm insane." Before he could say anything, she noticed the bed where she had been sleeping was wet. "Oh, Salazar," she said going into hysterics, "I… You… Merlin, I am so ashamed, I…"

"I couldn't care less about that," he said, "I care about what is in here," he touched a finger to her forehead.

"I need to clean this mess," she reached for her wand under her pillow. "I can't believe this happened."

"Why don't you go take a shower?" he said softly as he forced her hand down, "I will handle the cleaning."

"I… I'm sure you are wondering if I'm mental…" she didn't have it in her to meet his eye, so she looked down at her hands.

"The only thing I am wondering is what I can do to make you feel better," he admitted as his cheeks began to match his hair. They stared at each other, neither one knowing what to say to the other. Finally, he broke the silence "Go take a shower, I will take care of everything else."

"Are you sure?" he nodded and she finally relented. She went into the bathroom, closed and locked the door and checked three times before she even put her wand down. It was not because of the wizard on the other side of the door, but because of the ones that lived in the dark corners of her mind. She was about to start her shower when she heard to floo conversation coming from the hotel room they had decided on renting the day before.

"I want in on Daphne's case, Kingsley," his voice said fiercely, "I don't care what you have to do, make it happen. I will try to convince Harry to come out of retirement."

"After his last case a year ago, Harry said he'd had enough, Ron."

"I followed him for years to hell and back and never asked for a thing; I am sure he will do this for me."

"If you are sure," Shacklebolt's voice said.

"I will not stop until I bring her their heads on a silver platter."

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After a delicious yet quiet breakfast, Pansy and Harry had gone to the house the man had been calling home ever since the war had ended. 12 Grimmauld Place was a legend among people that moved in Pansy's circles. The ancestral home of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was a magical architectural gem, even if that hideous cursing portrait basically haunted it.

"Another pureblood witch that has chosen to dishonor her blood!" had cried the woman in the canvas, "You wretched whore! Your existence is blasphemy and your presence is the desecration of my home! Get out!"

They had had to run to the kitchen to escape the woman's awful screeches, "Salazar, so much for manners and class," she shuddered, "why in the world is that still here?"

"Permanent sticking charm, if you can believe it," he sounded apologetic, "the woman must have known whoever came after her would try to get rid of her."

"Can't say I blame them, us," she shuddered again as he nodded in agreement. "I know you probably don't want to hear this, but I can't live in here like this."

"This is all I have left of my godfather," Harry putting his foot down so decisively was both surprising and attractive to her, "I am not going anywhere, and thus neither are you."

"Oh, pish posh, Harry Potter," she said waving him away, "I don't mind living here, I just can't do it while it looks like this. I work as an interior decorator, you know? I cannot have my own home look like the perfect setting for a horror film."

"What do you know about horror films?" he asked both surprised and entertained.

"I do not live in a cave, Harry, just you," she said with a teasing look, "and as I just said I decorate homes, and the not magically inclined have those too. It only made sense that, in order to further my business, I became cultured in the non magical ways."

"That's… that's very impressive, Pansy," he said looking at her in an almost proud way.

"Yes, well," she said going around the kitchen, "I can't live here right now, frankly I don't know you have been fairing here for so long."

"Molly sends food and insists on cleaning the kitchen and my room every couple of weeks," he admitted, "I simply avoid the rest of the house and up to very recently spent all my time at the burrow."

An awkward silence filled the kitchen for a couple of minutes, and then Pansy spoke, "I am not going to get in between you and your best friends, Harry, they are welcomed in our home, wherever that might end up being," she said as she stopped looking around to look him straight in the eye, "but I most certainly expect you to both keep a respectful distance from a certain redhead woman, and to sleep next to me every night until one of us dies. Really dies, not like you did during the Hogwarts battle. Understood?"

"O-Of course, Pansy," he said shocked "I would never… You must know… I…"

"Good," she said with a smile and a nod, "then we are clear and this is behind us." She clapped her hands as if ready to get to work, "Would you prefer to set up residence at the Parkinson manor or should we stick to the flat?"

"Wasn't your father one of Voldemort's death eaters?" he asked looking at her as if baffled that she was asking, "your family home is probably crawling with dark magic."

"So is this place, Harry," she sighed. "Fine, the flat it is. I have amended the wards to allow you full control of the flat. If you wish to allow passage to your friends, then you should do that as soon—"

The floo in the living room announced an incoming floo call and, as they walked over to answer it, they passed the hideous portrait making her go back on a rant, "she has to go somehow, leave it to me," Pansy promised.

"Hello? Harry?" it was Ronald Weasley's voice.

"Hi Ron," Harry said awkwardly, "is… is everything okay?" Pansy rolled her eyes at her husband and spoke what he truly wanted to ask.

"What he means to say is, is your sister okay?"

"No one ever told you during princess lessons to not meddle in private conversations, Parkinson?" the man at the other end of the line sounded spiteful.

"Listen you little—"

"Ron, that is my wife you are addressing," Harry interrupted ticked off, "give Pansy the respect she deserves."

"I don't know how Ginny is," the voice admitted, "I've had my hands full myself. The last thing I knew of her was that she soul-matched Zabini yesterday."

"She what?" asked Harry as Pansy laughed out loud surprised "No way!"

"I was pretty stunt too, but it happened like with Hermione and the ferret," the voice was so neutral that Pansy knew the speaker was everything but calm. "Mind you, she cried as if she was at a funeral the entire time and disapparated in a wail."

"Whom did you match?" she asked as she tried to ignore Harry's troubled eyes.

"My wife is Daphne Greengrass, or rather Daphne Weasley," admitted the voice after a pause.

"What? How?" she questioned, "You are both of the twenty-eight! Now that I think about it, how are your sister and Blaise matched? This makes no sense!"

"I don't know, Parkinson—"

"Potter," corrected both wizard and wife, which made them share a small tentative smile.

"Whatever, Harry can we please have a private conversation?" Pansy didn't wait to be dismissed; instead she straightened from the crouch in which she'd been since the call started.

"You two go ahead and chat, I am going to give a look around the house and start planning the changes," and then she proceeded to do the strangest thing she had done in her entire life, she gave her husband a peck on the cheek before exiting the room.

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"Pansy's gone, Ron," he said trying to sound calm, "speak freely."

"I need you to come out of retirement, Harry," his best friend's voice said through the fire as the savior rolled his eyes.

"We've had this conversation many times already, Ron," he spoke slowly so that his friend really listened to him this time, "I had to stop working as an auror because I was losing my mind. Literally. The worry, the long hours, the paranoia… it was going to kill me, Ron."

"Harry, mate, please," Ron surprised him by pleading, "I wouldn't ask if I didn't need you for this assignment."

"What do you mean? You are the best tracker the aurors have had in decades, I am sure you will be able to find the death eaters sooner than you—"

"That's no longer my concern," the redhead interrupted, "I have reassigned myself to a new case."

"Okay…"

"I am working on Daphne's case," Harry physically recoiled from that announcement.

"What do you mean, Daphne's case?"

"She was one of the rape victims that Kingsley told us about," Harry recognized the tone in Ron's voice, he was out for blood, "I need your help, mate. Not only are you a gifted auror, you can also hold me accountable to…"

"To not kill them yourself," Harry finished with a tired sigh.

"I have never asked you for much, Harry," Ron pressed, "I never hesitated in joining you in the fight against Voldemort all those years."

"Let me talk to Pansy about it and then we'll go from there," Harry said resigned.

"Need permission already?" Ron teased.

"No, but her life is going to be affected by this as well, you git," he said as he straightened his cramped spine, "take good care of your wife, mate."

Once the call ended, he climbed the stairs and called out for his wife. Pansy responded with a loud, "in the family tree room!"

"Can we talk for a minute?" He said as he joined her.

"Sure," she said not turning to meet his gaze, "are you particularly attached to this tapestry? I am not fond of it and since Sirius has been burnt off it…" she trailed off when she finally turned and saw the distress in his eyes, "What's wrong?"

"I am going to have to leave retirement," he announced.

"You are retired?" the woman asked surprised, "aren't you a bit young to not work? I mean, I know the Potter Family had money, but…"

"I was an auror for about a year after the war, but couldn't deal with the side effects of the job so I retired," he said simply, "I can live comfortably without a job thanks to both my inheritance and the hefty award the ministry gave me for fighting the good fight."

"Harry, if it makes you unhappy why would you ever go back?" she raised her eyebrow, "Call me crazy, but life is too short to waste it. That's why I am not practicing magical law, and choose to surround myself with beautiful sofas and rich rugs."

"Ron asked me to help him," he explained, "he is going to be working in a very delicate case and he insisted and he has never asked me before and I just couldn't say no, Pansy." He finished his word vomit with the millionth sigh of the day.

"Is it Daphne's case?" she said walking to the part of the tapestry in which Sirius face used to be.

"I can't tell—" he stopped when she stared him down and nodded, "How did you know?"

"When they attacked me…" she turned back to look at the burnt off picture, "they said something about a Greengrass, and now she is married to the person that is pulling you into this," she said with a shrug, "I'm not dumb, you know?"

"I know you aren't, Pansy," he whispered, "are you going to be okay with this? It is difficult being married to an auror, even if you don't particularly care for him or her." She looked at him once more as she slanted her head to the side; she didn't speak for a long time as she studied him.

"I have no use for you at home, Harry, go back to work at your leisure," she said as she once more stared at the burn on the wall, "I just have one request."

"Whatever you wish," he said relieved that she hadn't gone into a tantrum.

"Make them regret the day they thought to hurt Daphne."

"I will make them pay with interests for what they did to Daphne, yes; but they will also pay for what they tried to do to you, Pansy," he vowed, "I swear to you, we will not rest until every single one of these bastards has been pushed through the Veil."

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

 _Dear Readers,_

 _Yes, I've been away, but have I not more than made up with this long chapter? I hope I have because I have missed you so much and can only hope you have missed me. Thank you for the reviews and the messages, they have brightened my day. The traffic this story gets both baffles and humbles me. I am eternally grateful to each of you for giving my story a chance._

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone_

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 _Dear Herm,_

 _I am glad you enjoyed the inner musings of Draco, I feel like it is the little things, such as the mutterings, that truly give insight into the characters. I hope this chapter delivers on your expectations._

 _Best,_

 _Kikistone_

 _Dear Kip,_

 _You asked for more details and you got them! Thank you for helping me improve my writing, it really means a lot to me. I am trying to add more funny and/or witty comments, because honestly? I live for witty people and it only makes sense for my characters to be sassy! I hope you enjoy this chapter, snappy Kip is back, hehehe. As for updating fast, I do it with all the love. It takes a toll and I had to take a two-day break, but I am so happy you are grateful for my efforts._

 _Best,_

 _Kikistone_


	18. Wild Magic

_Song of Choice for Today's Chapter:_

 _Redbone by Childish Gambino_

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"You are simply not going to let this go are you?" Draco said from behind his desk in his home office. The pounding at his temples was getting worse by the second as his angry wife shouted bloody murder at the top of her lungs. Blaise and his new wife had since taken their leave all too happily after the first hour of the brunette's ranting.

"You know about my work with S.P.E.W. so do not dare pretend my reaction is surprising!" she shouted utterly indignant, "How exactly do you expect me to let it go, Draco Malfoy?"

"I don't know, Hermione," he said exasperatedly himself, "Maybe you should take Blaise at his word," he huffed annoyed. "Maybe you should listen to Nym when she tells you that she is happy working for my family and that she is not abused in any way or form. Maybe you should give me the benefit of the doubt and try to believe I am not a complete monster!" All the windows of the room violently burst open at once; the only attention paid to them was a quick flick of Hermione's wand.

"I don't know if someone threatened her life or if she is being blindly faithful to you!" Hermione pointed an angry finger at his face as if she wanted to poke his eye out, "Even freed, Dobby never allowed himself to speak ill of the lot of you Malfoys."

"Pointing is extremely rude and unbecoming, wife," he bit angrily, "as for 'the Malfoys', well, you are one of us! So I encourage you to embrace it fully."

"I will be damned if I own any creatures!" her shout caused the fire burning in the fireplace to explode, successfully ending the fight as he leaped over the desk, wand in hand, and wrapped his arms around her bringing them to the floor as he casted a protective charm around their bodies. "What in the world?" asked the witch as she got up from the floor, once it was safe, to look at the charred armchair that was only a couple of feet away from her, "Did you do this?"

"Me?" he asked insulted and entertained at the same time, "you are quite the laugh, Hermione. No, I didn't just try to cook you alive," he said jokingly, but sobering at the sight of the burnt furniture he added, "I do think, however, that you caused that explosion."

"Are you daft?" she asked studying his face, "Why would I ever try to set myself on fire? I assure you, this is not my doing, husband."

"Fine, if it wasn't you, then we need to figure this out." He walked back around to his seat and spoke, "I was over here, you were over there," he motioned with an upturned palm, "this is how you signal properly, by the way."

"Duly noted, pompous arse," she said quickly covering her mouth in a childish manner, "I mean," she added in an overly sweet voice, "sweet husband."

"The flare-up occurred when you were overcome with righteous outrage and shouted," he continued ignoring her. "I think, dear wife, that you just suffered a bout of accidental magic."

"Don't be ridiculous," she huffed crossing her arms, "that is beyond insulting, you know that, don't you? I am not a child, Draco. I am a brilliant witch that has mastered incantations most wizards and witches could never even fathom!"

"I think you need to get off your high Hippogriff, Hermione, and look at the facts." He took a seat and crossed his arms as the witch looked around. He could see as the gears in her head began turning, trying to find another worthy conclusion and failing. "I… That can't be right." She looked around uncomfortably, unable to meet his gaze.

"So much for the brightest witch of her generation, witches and wizards!" he announced to an imaginary crowd.

"You do know I could kill you in ten different ways, right?" she said scornfully.

"You could," he nodded, "and now that we know of your little problem, you could blame it on your inability to control your magic."

"I'll have you know, you brat, that the last bout of accidental magic I had was months before our first year at Hogwarts!"

"Not anymore," his voice sang, goading her like he had so many times in school.

"You conniving little shite!" this time the window behind Draco's head went out and dozens of shards of sharp glass fell in his direction. "Draco!" Her voice was horrified as he managed only to raise his arms to cover his face from the brutal cuts that never happened.

"What the hell?" he whispered as he looked up to find all the spikes of glass suspended in the air, "How did you stop them so fast?"

"I… didn't," Hermione's surprised murmur came.

"What do you mean you didn't?" he said looking at the floating debris, "I certainly didn't stop it."

"Accidental magic," Hermione gasped as her eyes went wide, "Draco, accidental magic!"

"Yes, we covered this already," he considered if maybe the war, the pressure of the marriage and the crazy circumstances had caused her mind to finally check out.

"No, you dense git," she huffed annoyed, "accidental magic, think! Why does it happen?"

"Magical children have wild magic coursing through their veins and because the magic is new to them they cannot control it," he shrugged missing her point, "we are not preteens, Hermione, as you so observantly point out a minute ago."

"No," she conceded, "but we do have new magic flowing through our veins."

"You have finally lost it," he lamented out loud as he pulled out his wand to undo the damage to the window.

"No, think about it," she said rounding the desk as Draco sat back down, "at our ceremony, Wimple said that our magic would become one."

"So you think," he gestured back and forth between where Hermione sat on his desk and his seat, "that you are causing fires and I am not shredded cheese because we are somehow channeling the other's magic?"

"Right, the windows bursting open, the fire, the exploding window and you stopping the glass, it's all accidental magic," she nodded leaning forward. "It's the only explanation, Draco, your magic is new to me, my magic is new to you and we are a danger to society when flustered."

"Do you know what this means?" he whispered as he looked around the room to make sure no one and nothing else could hear the conversation.

"That we need to control our temper or someone is going to die an untimely death?" Hermione asked raising an eyebrow.

"Probably at your hands, too, since I control my emotions a lot better," Draco nodded, "but think beyond that, Hermione."

"What?" she asked as her face came only inches from his, "tell me."

"Hermione, if our magic is truly linked," he said gulping, "it means that we truly exist as one. If something happens to one…"

"The other one will suffer too," he could see as waves of different emotions passed over her face, fear, anger, resignation, worry, more anger, more worry and more fear. "I promise to stay out of trouble, no more wars for me," she tried to joke.

"That's the thing, Hermione," he didn't know how, but one second his hands were at his sides and the next they were stinging with electricity as he brushed both her cheeks softly, "this time I am the one being hunted."

"By Godric," her hands flew to his wrist and for a second he thought she was going to pull them away due to the intensity of the contact, but instead she just held on, "What are we going to do, Draco? What if they attack us— Blaise and Ginny! Draco, the Prophet said—"

"I know, love," he hushed her as he brought their foreheads together for a second before standing up, "we have to warn them."

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"I would not want to be Draco," Ginevra said to him as she dusted the floo powder that still clung to her clothes. "He is going to need a new pair of eardrums."

"I honestly don't get what all the fuss is about," he shrugged following her into the kitchen where she dug a tub of ice cream out of the fridge, "so what if the man wants to keep elves? As long as he is good to them, what does she care?" he offered her a spoon as he secured one for himself.

"You don't get it," she spoke through her first spoonful, "she sees it as slavery."

"The only victims in that situation are the children brought up by the elves!" she gave him a funny look and he felt compelled to demonstrate. "Watch." He abandoned his spoon on the tub and shouted in faux anger "Kip! Come here right this second, Kip!"

"Master Blaise Ignatius," his nanny elf popped into existence, crossness all over her small features "Kip believes Kip said you many times during years how inappropriate and indecorous it is for men of your blood to yap, yap, yap! We are not in the market, Master."

"Did she just say inappropriate and indecorous?" Ginevra said shocked, letting her own spoon fall into the tub.

"Picked those up from my mother, didn't you Kippippins?" he questioned not having the heart to correct her on the matter of his blood. Knowing her, Kip would probably think it was her fault somehow.

"Mistress Bellissa, yes, master Blaise," Kip reverenced as she mentioned his mother, a habit of hers that was among his earliest memories.

"You can go back to whatever you were doing, Kip," he said with a pat on the elf's shoulder, "I just wanted to show Ginevra you are not my slave."

"Kip is no slave, mistress!" the elf gasped in horror at the idea, "Mistress Ginevra," she said going to his wife and holding her hand, "Kip do not fear Kip's family, Kip proud of Kip's family. Kip loves Zabinis." The words that came out of the redhead's mouth nearly brought him to his knees in worship.

"We love you just as much, Kip," she said softly squeezing the old elf's hand as the elf wailed, happy tears rolling down her cheeks, "please continue with your day."

"Yes, Mistress Ginevra," she said popping away, eager to please her new mistress.

"Thank you," he whispered coming to take a seat next to her on the countertop, "She is everything to me."

"Of course," she said putting her head on his shoulder for a single second, an attempt at a hug as she kept eating her dessert. "Blaise, can we talk?"

"I'm already in trouble?" he asked in mock horror, "Merlin, help me."

"I just feel like I need to clear the air after the bride-from-hades stunt I pulled," her voice sounded hoarse as she shifted uncomfortably where she sat.

"There is nothing to say, Ginevra," he shrugged, "you saw the love of your life marry another woman and grief overtook you. I don't expect you to be fine and, if the manner in which the ice cream levels of the household are any indication, I know I am right not to expect so."

"I don't know what to say other than I'm sorry," she apologized to the ice cream tub, instead of him, but he didn't mind it at all since it was kind of adorable, "I know you probably would have wanted someone with less baggage."

"People with little baggage is rarely extraordinary, pumpkin," he said jumping off the counter and turning to offer her his hand, "I just ask that you not lie to me. I cannot tolerate lying."

"I would never—" she began but he stopped her.

"Don't set yourself up for an accidental lie," he said linking his fingers through hers, a familiar sting spreading up his arm, "for now, let us agree to do the best we can with what we have, okay?" she nodded her agreement and then he pulled softly on their joint hands, "come on, I want to show you around the flat so you know where everything is."

Half an hour later they had toured almost the entirety of the apartment when Ginevra stopped in front of the door he had identified as his room. She looked at him and then down at the hands that hadn't broken their grip on each other.

"Blaise," her voice broke a little on the single word.

"Yes?"

"Why-did-you-choose-to-not-sleep-with-me?" she spoke so quickly that her question came out as a single word. "Is it because of… him?"

"I just thought you would appreciate having your own space," he said mimicking her lack of eye contact, "it would be wrong for me to assume that you would want to share such close quarters with me. I also didn't want you to think that I would try anything with you."

"Oh," she said letting go of his hand as if it was poison to her, "I see." At her tone, his eyes snapped up and fused with hers.

"I didn't mean that you are not worthy or beautiful or that touching you doesn't set my veins on fire," he rambled quickly through his words in the least Blaise-like manner, but he didn't care, "frankly I would give anything, do anything to consume you completely, but—" The creeping sensation of someone trying to enter their home uninvited halted his prattling.

"Someone's here," Ginevra said pulling out her wand with practiced ease as she went down the stairs two at a time. Blaise ran after and caught up as they reached the second floor.

"There's two," he said placing his body as a shield between her and the place where the culprits would apparate, "if it gets ugly, you swallow your Gryffindor bravery and you get out, understood?" She looked like she wanted to chew him out, so he added, "Call on Kip once you are out."

"I will," she promised with a nod. "Before you let them in," she faintly brushed her lips on the very corner of his, but it felt better than any other kiss he had ever gotten. His blood coiled with electricity, "I will protect us, you attack, go!"

He let the wards morph and soon two figures materialized in his living room. "Levicorpus!" he cried flicking his wand as Ginevra casted a powerful expelliarmus.

"Zabini!" roared a floating, upside-down Draco, "get me down, you bloody moron!"

"Ginny, why did you disarm me?" Hermione asked confused as she called her wand back to her without speaking. "Zabini, please, put my husband down."

Once Draco was back on his feet and had huffily dusted himself, he spoke angrily, "You come over unannounced and get thousand-galleon firewhisky. Yet when we pay you a visit and you attack us?"

"Play nice, Draco," Hermione warned with an eye roll, "Obviously they didn't know it was us."

"I will amend the wards to include you," Blaise said to Hermione.

"Glad to see you are still alive, Malfoy," Ginevra laughed, "I thought she would have killed you over the elfin situation by now."

"There was a fire and an attempt on my life by means of an exploding window if you must know."

"What?" Blaise asked shocked as his childhood friend shrugged unconcernedly.

"That was an accident and it's not the important part," Hermione sighed annoyed, "can we go somewhere private?"

"More private than my empty home?" he asked her entertained.

"Yes," both Malfoys said simultaneously, "sixth-year private, Blaise," added the pale wizard.

"Follow me," he led them into his room and, once inside, into his walk-in closet where he opened a hidden door.

"How many robes does one wizard need?" Hermione whispered to Ginevra.

"Enough to go with the countless pairs of Italian leather shoes, I guess," shrugged his wife.

"Inside, ladies," he said softly pushing them through, "quickly."

Once inside the dark room, the door closed behind them and Blaise called for a Lumos Maxima, casting away the shadows to reveal a cavernous room styled in silver and green with plush leather black seats and a fireplace. Draco laughed at the sight and shared a knowing look.

"Where are we?" whispered Ginevra taking in her surroundings, "This obviously was not part of the original floor plan."

"This is my very own wizarding panic room," Blaise admitted, "when the attacks on pure— the solely magically inclined began, I created this place and styled it to look like a safe place, the Slytherin common room."

"Seriously?" Ginevra looked around and let out a low whistle, "if our common room had been this nice the boys would have ruined it in a matter of days."

"Hours, you mean," Hermione laughed, going to take a seat next to her husband on the luxurious couch next to the fireplace.

"I'll do the honors," Draco announced as Ginevra and Blaise sat down across from the other couple. With a flick of his wrist, Draco allowed them all into his mind.

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"Where are we?" asked Ginny looking around and finding nothing other than a table with four chairs surrounded by a dark void, the pseudo common room now gone.

"My mind," answered Draco, "a part of it, in any case. Please sit, and let's do this quickly. As long as we are here, our bodies are game for whoever might find them."

"Why are we even here again, Draco?" questioned Zabini. "I thought I'd never had to come back into this void after the war."

"We told you," her husband said, "we need the privacy."

"Would it kill you to make it more pleasing," Zabini shuddered uncomfortably, "seriously, why is your mind so… uninviting."

"Because it doesn't take kindly to being infiltrated by strangers," Draco's voice was cutting, signaling the end of the questioning.

"Hermione, what's going on?" asked a frightened Ginny, "I don't like any of this."

"I read in the paper this morning that you two were linked like we did, is that true?" Hermione asked her best friend.

"Yes," she said as Zabini nodded, "but what does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm fairly sure it is an exaggeration," Zabini said brushing his wife back soothingly.

"It was real, Blaise," Draco explained, "The whole babble about soul mates and sharing the magic. That's what the electricity is about." He gestured at the hand rubbing Ginny's back, "Hermione and I are linked and our magic has become that of the other, and so has yours."

"That's insane!" Ginny cried horrified.

"It's true, Gin," She admitted uncomfortable at her own vulnerability as a few minutes passed in silence; the couple took their time processing the heavy news.

"What does that mean for us?" Blaise asked looking at Ginny with such protectiveness that Hermione felt taken aback; when there was no answer, he prompted, "Draco, what does that mean?"

"It means that you and I need to be very careful," Draco said reaching out for her own hand, the electricity coiling in their palms was comforting to her ragged nerves, "if something happens to us, it will hurt them. If something happens to them, we will be blinded by pain."

"How far does the bond go?" Ginny asked wide-eyed.

"We don't know," she admitted, "we are piecing ideas together as we go, but one thing is certain, I don't seem to be able to hurt Draco by means of magic and I am fairly sure it goes both ways. Just like I couldn't hurt myself with my magic intentionally."

"There are also strong experimental magic bouts," Draco cautioned.

"So that's how the fire and the near-death experience came about?" Ginny laughed awkwardly.

"I wouldn't laugh, pumpkin," Blaise mumbled. "Accidental magic is a true hazard and this is probably the incredibly powerful kind. We need to be careful."

"What now?" the redhead asked her fellow Gryffindor.

"We stick together and we never talk about this outside of each other's minds," she whispered, "If the wrong people caught wind of this…"

"They could use you against us," Draco answered honestly, "and I personally don't want to do awful things again for the sake of keeping a loved one safe."

"I would have done and, frankly, would do the same if I had been in your shoes as I am now, mate, let the guilt go" Zabini's voice was full of both caring and despair, "We need to go, it's been too long," The next second each one was back in their own heads. Hermione made a mental note to ask Draco how he'd done that spell and if he would teach her.

"We will be in contact," Draco said as he got a hold of the patch of naked skin in which her neck turned into her shoulder, the electricity a delicious burn, "we must go home and add more wards, may I suggest you do the same?"

"I will take care of it," Ginny said and she stared at Zabini as if for the first time.

"Stay safe," the tanned man said seemingly ignoring his wife eyes as they roamed his all over him. Draco and Hermione nodded, immediately leaving the panic room and taking the floo home.

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 _PROTEGO!_

 _Dear Readers,_

 _Long absence and a short chapter… I know, I know, but writer's block is SUCH an asshole! The characters in my head weren't exactly eager to speak up, what were they doing, you might ask? Draco and Hermione just bickered at each other, Blaise and Ginny were next to each other, but not really interacting; Pansy is out shopping while Harry struggles with inner demons he is not ready to talk about and Daphne is trying to blend with the furniture. What about Luna and Theo? You and I both know what they are up to these days ;) Anyway, I hope to have the next chapter out by tomorrow. I will not rest until I crank it out._

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone_

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

 _Dear Guest,_

 _You asked for more Dramione, call me the fairy godmother because you got it! I hope you enjoyed their bickering because it was particularly hard to get them to work with me._

 _Best,_

 _Kikistone_

 _Dear Pallas Athena,_

 _All my readers should be thanking you because you are the reason this chapter finally happened! Your review made me so happy and I hope you find this chapter enjoyable. I am sorry I kept you waiting, and hope to hear from you soon. This chapter is for you!_

 _Best,_

 _Kikistone_


	19. Biting Poisonous Freshwater Plimpies

_Song of Choice for Today's Chapter:_

 _Believer by Imagine Dragons_

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Luna had never been much of a morning person, but ever since her wedding she found herself awake at the wee hours of dawn. Now, for example, it was four in the morning, the sky was dark with a couple of stars and planets visible still. She covered her body with one of her husband old quidditch shirts that fit her like a dress and went to take a seat by the window knowing that Theo would be out, passing by sooner or later, during his rounds around the property.

As far as she knew, nothing had happened at the manor since she had moved in, but her husband was relentless in his defensive tendencies. When she had asked him the night before why it was so important to him to maintain the integrity of the home when damaged could be repaired easily with magic, Theo had laughed and explained that he wasn't actually protecting the home.

"I am actually protecting the idiots that insist on braking in," he said looking away into space. "I don't want to even know what kind of dark magic could get triggered by trespassers."

"I've been living here for two weeks now," Luna whispered confused, "and the only thing that I have found objectionable were the Blibbering Humdingers in the library." He gave her the Loony Lovegood look and then shook his head.

"Is there a book I can read about all these new creatures, Moon?" he had caressed her cheek with inconceivable care.

"They are not new at all, Theo," she said unable to stop her laughter, "I have many books on them. When I finish consolidating our libraries, you can ask the directory to guide you to any of them."

Theodore's running figure brought her back to the present as he passed under the window where she sat. He must have felt her gaze on him, because he stopped running and looked straight at her. At first he had a focused, angry-looking expression, but when she smiled at him his entire body seem to soften somehow. They stared at each other for a couple of minutes, but a movement at the edge of the garden got her attention away from the exchange.

"Biting poisonous freshwater plimpies!" she cursed pulling her wand out of the bun in her hair and jumping out the third story window breaking her fall with a spell. Five hooded figures approached the edge of wards and began chanting together, easily getting through the wards.

"Go back inside, Luna!" shouted an angry Theo when he saw her next to him. He attacked the figure heading the group. She ignored him as she casted a full-body bind that had one of the attackers on the floor in seconds. "Luna!"

She turned just in time to see a figure running in her direction, "Alarte Ascendare!" Luna shouted sending the attackers body several feet up in the air, the fall stunting them unconscious as Theo casted an arrow-shooting spell. She got distracted for a single second, and was surprised when the grass at her feet was hit by an Expulso charm, the explosion sending her flying backwards a good distance.

"Luna!" cried Theo desperate running to where she had landed.

"I'm okay, Theo," she said incorporating painfully. He looked over her body at the scratches and superficial bleedings as he became visible overtaken by rage. Luna saw as her husband's face drained of all emotion and became abnormally cold. He then stood straight as a knife and pointed at the figured closest to him.

"Sectumsempra!" he barked angrily, as the body collapse onto the grass in a bloody mess. He took off running to where the attackers were in different levels of injured and immobilized, but before he got to their bodies to uncover their faces, they all disappeared at once.

"MERLIN'S BALLS!" he cried angrily as he pulled at his hair. Luna got up and hobbled on one foot to his side.

"It's okay, Theo," she put her arms around him.

"Like hell this is fine," he said turning to face her, "you could have been seriously injured, Luna! Why didn't you listen and go back inside?" he was now turning his fear into anger, "They could have kill you!"

"They wouldn't have killed me," she said calmly as he picked her up in the same manner non-magical men pick up their brides in movies.

"You can't know that," he said tightening his grip on her, "by Salazar, Luna, you have to learn to listen to me."

"I need not learn such a thing," she said softly, "plenty of generations have passed since the Lovegood women have obeyed their husbands, Theo. I refuse to break the tradition." She cuddled into his chest while humming a soft tune.

"Fine, don't listen to me," he huffed, "but, please, a little self-preservation goes a long way."

"I was perfectly safe in that field, Theo," she said continuing with her tune as he entered the main foyer.

"Look at you, Luna," he said pointing at her ankle with his chin.

"They weren't going to hurt me, Theo," she said with a long sigh, "that's just not how members of the D.A. treat each other."

"I'm sorry, what?" he shook his head confused and she laughed giving him a peck on the lips.

"The way they fought, the spells," Luna shrugged, "they are members of the Dumbledore army, my night."

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

Harry was sitting behind the desk he had sworn to never see again. Oh, how life loved to laugh at his resolves over and over. He conjured himself a cup of coffee as he cursed his best friend for the umpteenth time that month for getting him back into the Auror life. He sulked for Godric knows how long before a loud commotion outside his office made him step out onto the hallway.

"I need to see the head Auror," a very angry Theodore Nott shouted at a scrambling secretary, "Now!"

"Mr. Nott," the witch's tone was as apologetic as it was distressed, "like I told you, he is not at the office at the moment—"

"Then his second in command!" Harry was pretty certain the man was close to killing the woman so he intervened.

"Nott, how can I help you?" he said walking up to the tall man, "Marian, I will be taking over; you are free to go." As soon as the words were out of his mouth the witch vacated the premises.

"You!" Nott said invading his personal space, "this is all your fault!" Before he could inquire as to what exactly was his fault and why it made the Slytherin so angry, a whimsical blonde appeared next to the imposing man.

"Theodore," Luna said sternly, or as sternly as Luna could ever be, "Harry could have never known this would happen." And with a big smile she added, "Hello Harry."

"I do not care, Moon!" The man was still shouting but somehow calmer.

"Hi there, Luna," Harry waved as Ron came over to join what was promptly becoming a circus show in the Auror department.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" he questioned in a whisper, "you are disturbing the entire department and it's not even seven in the morning, Nott."

"Okay…" Harry interrupted before Luna's husband could loudly loose his mind, "how about we take this into my office?" The door wasn't even fully closed before Theodore Nott was shouting again.

"This is all your bloody fault, both of you!"

"What is wrong with him?" asked Ron looking at Harry who turned to look at Luna.

"What is wrong with him, Luna?"

"He is standing right here, thank you very much!" Theodore complained.

"Theodore Nigel Nott," Luna censured in a sweet motherly manner at odds with her words, "settle down or I will make you eat slugs."

"Now that would be grand!" Ron said with a laugh, "I urge you to settle, Nott. It is a rather nasty spell." Ron shuddered visibly, probably remembering his encounter with the jinx in second year.

"I will settle when you fix the mess you've made," Nott said taking a seat next to Luna, who smiled softly at her placated husband.

"I am going to ask one last time," Harry said patiently, "what is going on?"

"I was running Nott Manor's perimeter at oh-four-hundred this morning when five hooded figures apparated to the edge of my property just beyond the wards. They then proceeded to penetrate them Merlin only knows how, and then attacked me and my wife; who, even though told otherwise, insisted on joining the fight."

"It's what I do, Harry knows this, Ron knows this," Luna said with a shrug signaling at her bandaged foot as both he and Ron nodded, "I couldn't let him do it alone, you understand that, I'm sure."

"I understand why you want an Auror on this case," Harry said taking notes of the incident described in his terrible handwriting, "but how is the attack our fault?"

"We are trying our hardest to handle pure— solely magical related cases, but we find ourselves overwhelmed," Ron explained.

"I don't care if you are—" Luna, who seemed to have had enough from them all, interrupted Nott.

"The attackers were D.A., Harry," she said with a calm smile on her face, "they use the training you gave us all those years ago."

"No way in hell," Ron shook his head violently, "we are the good guys, Luna. No member of D.A. would attack you. Maybe him, but not you."

"I wasn't actually attacked, the spell hit the floor in front of me and sent me flying," this somehow was different in Luna's head.

"Either way," Ron continued, "I refuse to believe—"

"Are you calling my wife a liar?" Nott snapped angrily, "I was there too and can describe the whole thing to you, then you can apologize to Luna and tell me how you will fix it."

"Please do," Harry nodded, "These are serious accusations, but if they are real then we have a pretty comprehensive list of possible suspects."

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

After a very detailed and very longwinded account of the attack on Nott Manor, Ron felt like his head was about to explode as his blood began to boil. Luna was right, it did sound like D.A. members were behind the attack.

"It's one of us, Harry," The betrayal burnt.

"It certainly seems like it," his best friend seemed truly distressed at their predicament. "I think I remember most of the names by heart, but do you know where the actual list might be?"

"If it exists, then Hermione probably has it," Ron said as he rounded Harry's desk to send out a letter to the witch in question. "We will get on this now," he said dismissing the couple that was still sitting down.

"Yes," Harry nodded in the same absentminded way that Albus Dumbledore's seem to have always done while he was alive, "You should consider upgrading to stronger wards, Nott—"

"I have," the wizard said cuttingly, "I carried out all the changes the Ministry suggested over a year ago when the first attack on my home took place."

"I have some ideas we can implement," Luna said standing up in what seemed like slow motion, "maybe put in place the same spell that sealed the Ravenclaw common room."

"Didn't you get locked out of your common room for an entire night once?" Ron asked both confused and entertained.

"Yes," Luna smiled, "it was a particularly challenging riddle, which ended up being paradoxical in nature. I won Ravenclaw 20 points for my deduction."

"Blimey," he felt his eyes go wide, "just how complex was the paradox?"

"It was rather simple, actually," Luna said as her husband joined her at the door, ready to go home, "does the set of all sets of numbers that do not contain themselves, contain itself?"

"I would have been locked out for a week!" he said utterly confused.

"No, you wouldn't have," Harry shook his head; "Hermione would have cracked that case. Take her home, Nott, and keep her safe."

"I will, Potter," the wizard said offering his arm to the quirky witch, "I expect a full report in a week's time. If not for my peace of mind, then for Luna's sake."

"We'll do our best," Ron said with a final wave as he went to close the door behind them. "Can you believe him? 'If not for my peace of mind, then for Luna's…' oh, bite me!" When Harry didn't answer, he studied him closely. "What's on your mind, Harry?"

"I am truly disconcerted, Ron," the once savior shrunk onto the seat Nott had occupied only a moment ago. "If members of the D.A. truly are behind this, then maybe Nott is right. May I am responsible for this mess."

"You can't keep carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, Harry, this is not your fault. You couldn't have known." When that didn't seem to help, he added, "If you are at fault, then so am I and so is Hermione."

"I was the teacher, Ron," Harry said melancholically.

"Harry…" The wizard in question stood up, hiding his struggle behind a poorly crafted façade.

"I'm fine, Ron," he began going over some files that were spread all over his desk, "I need to get to these, I will call for you when I hear back from Hermione."

It killed him to see Harry torture himself over things such as this, but that was whom his best friend was these days; always forlorn and miserable. There were just too many demons for him to face and not enough time energy or interest to do so.

"If you want to talk…" Ron whispered from the door, one hand on the doorknob.

"See you later, Ron." The redhead huffed annoyed but knew a losing battle when he was in one so, instead of pushing further, he went to his own office, which was on the other end of the department. He sat behind his battered desk and began writing the message before he could talk himself out of it.

"This is for Harry," he told himself, "you need to do this."

 _Parkinson,_ _Potter_ _,_

 _Pansy,_

 _I wouldn't be writing to you if I didn't think you were the best shot I have at getting through to Harry. I don't know how much contact the two of you have had since the weddings, but he has been through one too many things during his short life and carries too big a burden. Hermione and I have tried talking to him to no avail. He is not receptive to us. Maybe you'll have better luck._

 _Ron Weasley._

He called on his owl and was about to give the bird the letter when he felt the need to confer on his decision. He went to the floo in his office, one of the few perks his role in the war had gotten him, and picked up a handful of powder.

"Herm—" he had been about to call his old friend and confident of many years, but something told him not to do so. Instead he ended up saying. "Daphne Weasley,"

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

Daphne was curled up on the comfy sofa that took up a good portion of the living room of the house she shared with Ron. She had been reading a book her sister Astoria had recommended when the floo startled her by lighting up with a call.

"Yes?" she asked tentatively.

"Oi Daph, it's Ron," spoke the voice she knew to belong to her husband.

"Oh, hi," she felt the corners of her mouth turn up into a smile, "are you alright? You don't usually call home, I mean, to the house during the day."

"Oh, yeah, yeah," he said quickly, "everything's fine. I was just calling to ask for some guidance, actually…" he sounded uncomfortable.

"Really?" She heard the excitement in her own voice and she grimaced as she tried to rein in her elation, "I'd love to help you, ask away."

"Well, Harry has been off for a long time," he began, "he is always down and it is simply unbearable, Daph. But more than that, I worry about him. He doesn't want to talk to me, but leaving him alone is not an option. I fear for his wellbeing, Daphne. He is in a really bad place."

"I see," she said as she chewed her lip, "you said he's been this way for a long time, but about how long exactly?"

"Couple of years, I guess."

"Ron, that's a long time to be depressed," Daphne said thinking back to the books she had read months ago, "it is especially dangerous for wizards to be upset for so long. Our magic starts feeding the awful feelings and soon the suicidal thoughts take over."

"How do you know that?" he sounded amazed.

"I was studying to become a healer," she admitted flushing, "but then I… you know."

"I had no idea! Daphne, you would be a great healer," Ron encouraged, "we will talk more about this tonight during dinner, okay?"

"Sure, Ron," she nodded even though he couldn't see her. "What did you want to ask me to advise you on?"

"Oh, right," he cleared his throat, "I was thinking of reaching out to Par— Pansy thought maybe she could help."

"I…" she paused and looked for the right words, "Pansy is very confrontational, Ron; but she truly has a heart of gold. I think you've had worse ideas."

"That's not very encouraging, Daph," he snorted.

"If it was you, I would like for Harry to tell me my husband is unwell." There was silence for a while, and it made her think that maybe she'd offended him somehow.

"You are the best, Daph," his voice finally came; causing her to let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "I am going to make an effort to call home more often."

"That'd be nice," she said trying not to sound overly hopeful.

"You can always call me, too," he added quickly. "Only if you wanted, of course. You are not obligated to call me; but you could."

"I will, Ron," she chuckled softly, "have a good day at work."

"See you at dinner," and then the fire died down.

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

 _Dear Readers,_

 _The plot thickens! You know, for someone that had a writer's block not even 48 hours ago, my characters sure are screaming now! I want to hear your thoughts, but I will not be offended if you choose not to review. Thank you, as always, for reading and sticking to this story. If you are new, Welcome! The more the merrier :). This chapter goes out to purplehedgehod13, faithful reader and writer of my 40_ _th_ _review, yay!_

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone_

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

 _Dear Herm,_

 _Care to elaborate on those thoughts? I would love to pick through your brain! Thanks for sticking around, friend. I am happy my chapters continue to motivate you to review._

 _Best,_

 _Kikistone_


	20. Prejudice and Pride

_Song of Choice for Today's Chapter:_

 _Do You Remember by Jarryd James featuring Raury_

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

"Listen to me!" he shouted losing the very last of his patience as he violently pushed open the door to their shared room. Living with Hermione Granger-Malfoy —he still couldn't believe that, after things had settled, his wife had used her many connections without his knowing to hyphenate her name— was proving to be a world-class pain in the neck.

The newlyweds often oscillated violently between fighting their urges to tear each other's clothes off and almost tearing off each other's heads. It was a particularly uncomfortable situation for him, because he knew perfectly well that the former impulse was purely a side effect of their wild magic, while the latter impulse was his wife through and through. "You are not getting involved in this calamity, and that is the last I want to hear about this."

It had been three days since Hermione had gotten that idiotic letter from the idiotic Weasel and Potty requesting the idiotic meeting logs of the idiotic D.A. They had spoken, discussed, debated, shouted, and nearly killed each other a couple of times over whether or not they ought to engage in the investigation and the conflict that would surely ensue. Neither one had managed to convince the other, which led husband and wife to the latest round of fighting.

"I do not care for what you want to hear or not!" she followed him into their room and then took a detour into the closet, "I am not letting my friends, who by the way are very much married to your friends," she added agitated as she pushed her head into a jumper, "face this mess by themselves!" He could tell she was very close to letting go of the grip she had managed to get over the volatile magic that coursed through them both.

"Hermione," Draco snapped furiously as he forced himself not to viciously pull on the ends of his platinum hair. She reemerged into the room sporting a yellow cable-knit over the white blouse and dark wash jeans she had been wearing earlier, "I understand what you are saying, but it doesn't change a thing." She crossed her arms over her chest in a defiant pose, "You are not engaging."

"I am not your daughter, Draco Malfoy," her words were full of copious amounts of poison, "whether you like it or not you married a war heroine, not a perfect little society wife and thus it will be a freezing day in hell the day I obey you."

"It is not about obedience, witch!" Draco's turned around and nearly let his baser instincts take over; the desire to let his fist fly and connect with their cream colored bedroom wall was intense, "Hermione, this is about your safety, not about you being a perfect society wife; something in which, for the record, I have shown no interest in your being."

"Don't you get it, your royal denseness?" Hermione threw the closest thing she could find, a pillow, at his head. He deflected it toward a wall as if it were a gnat before it could connect with him, "as long as these psychopaths are out there no one is safe, Draco!"

"We are safe, Hermione. Only a handful people know where we live," he countered, "and even if one of them divulged the secret, which will not happen but if it did, I have put so many layers of wards into this home that no one can get within walking distance of it without my knowledge, even if they are among the allowed guests."

"I cannot do nothing while my best friends risk their lives, you self-preserving snake," she said throwing her hands in the air in frustration, "I just cannot sit here and wait!"

"And I cannot sit here and let my wife go to war and possibly get hurt or abducted!" he shouted exasperatedly, "don't you get it? If they figure out that we are linked or bonded or whatever you want to call this… If we are found out, they will go after one of us, realistically you!"

"If they really are D.A. members I will be safe!"

"You cannot be sure they are, and even if you were," he shook his head, "they will still hunt you down."

"They could try and take you, you know?" this time she took off one of her cream ballet flats and threw it at him with a force that surprise him a bit when he caught mid-air, "I am not a helpless princess that is easy to target."

"No, you are not," he conceded returning the offending shoe. "Do you want to know why you will be targeted instead of me, though?"

"Please," she elongated the word several syllables, "do tell, you pompous git."

"If they take me, you will probably not bend to their demands, but if they take you…" he gave her a second so she could picture things his way, "You are a death eater's wife, Hermione," his tone similar to that of his own father.

"Former—"

"You never stop being a death eater, love. No matter how hard you try, your morals never quite recover," Draco cut off. "If they get to you, I will do whatever they say to keep you safe, regardless of what they ask."

"No, you won't because the greater good would require—"

"I am not talking about this any longer," he said crossing the room and holding onto her shoulders as he forced her to meet his intense grey eyes, "just know that if you do choose to get involved in this mess, we just might end up fighting for two different sides all over again, but this time around it will be because you just couldn't listen to my warnings and I had to keep you alive," he saw the fight leave her as she blanched dramatically, "I am a very selfish man, Hermione, you are mine and I take care of what's mine."

"I am not a piece of property you can own!" she snapped angrily and she both twisted the shoe in her hand and struggled to get out of his grip.

"Fine," he shrugged letting her go, "then let us just say that I strongly refuse to put others' safety over yours and that, when push comes to shove, the world might be set ablaze by these hoodlums and I will continue to sleep at night peacefully and at length as long as you are safe."

"You truly would choose a single person's life over that of hundreds of others?" he could see just how unthinkable it was for her, and how she found him more than a bit despicable for what she considered moral crookedness.

"I have always tried to be the best person I could be, even during the war; but make no mistake, love, my family takes precedence above all else still. If in your hypothetical the one person is you, I wouldn't think twice before forsaking the many," he admitted with a nod. "I know that you or Potter or Weasley might not make the same choices, Salazar knows the three of you have no sense of preservation of the self or otherwise, but I wish for you to die of old age by my side."

"Is that all you care about?" she said disgusted, "your wishes and desires?"

"I care about not having to sell out my friends and their whereabouts in order keep you safe," he smirked humorlessly as her eyes widened in anguish, "I care about not having to stop people's hearts to keep yours going. I care about not ever casting unforgivable curses to keep them from being performed on you." Neither one spoke as they stared deeply into each other's eyes in a silent battle for dominance "But I will if it means keeping you safe. I already saw you get tortured once, Hermione, I can't do that again."

"You don't play fair," her eyes filled with tears as she looked down at the floor and held the skin that had been mutilated by his psychotic aunt.

"No, I don't," he admitted as he brought his arms around her in a caring hold that was becoming less and less out of place as the days passed. "You are my soul and my magic, Hermione. The bond that binds us is much more powerful than the love or lust or want that have caused wars, famines and entire empires to collapse. I will quite literally die without you, so forgive me if I am not gingerly sending you along into this mess."

"I hate this," she said into his chest as she held onto him, a quiet sense of peace enveloping them as it always did after their explosive disagreements.

"I hate your hugs too," he said jokingly, earning him a soft pinch on the side.

"You know what I meant, nutty," she sighed letting the fight drain from her muscles at last.

"I know, love," his whisper brushed against her hairline as his lips caressed the skin there. Affection for the witch was slowly but surely worming into his heart, no matter how much he tried to discourage it. He knew that the developing fondness would only complicate his already convoluted marriage.

"Why do you keep calling me that?" her eyes looked up at him as they searched his face. He tried to conceal his feeling from her prying and must have been successful given the small wrinkles that formed between her scrunch up eyebrows. "Draco…" she warned as he felt a gentle prod at the very edge of his mind.

"Don't you ever learn?" he questioned her entertained by her boldness "You know I will put up a fight if you try to read my mind again," he cautioned, "last time you almost landed in St. Mungo's because your migraine lasted more than two days!"

"I just want to know what you are thinking," She huffed annoyed but retreated from his mind nonetheless. "Sadly, you are excellent at both mentally and physical hiding your thoughts."

"Can you blame me? If you had grown up with Lucius and then shared a home with the sociopathic tyrant you would have mastered it quickly too," he shrugged, starting to feel uncomfortable at the nearness that never failed to make him confess demons best left repressed, "I call you what I call you because in a certain way I am not quite sure how to describe it fits. Except when you are throwing things at my head."

"Hey!" She laughed insulted, "at least this time it was a pillow that flew at your head."

"Don't forget the shoe; but yes, they are both a most welcome change compared to the boiling kettle from five days ago," he said looking down at her with an accusing smirk. Her own smile beamed up at him, easing a bit the knot that had settle in his stomach due to their previous conversation.

He wasn't sure exactly what it was that caused the shift; it could have been the nearness of her, or the intoxicating smell of her shampoo that goaded him, or maybe it was the way her eyes shown in the midday sun. All Draco Malfoy knew was that one second he was joking around with her and the next he was diving down to brush her lips with his. Before he could, however, Hermione turned her cheek.

"Draco…" she said stepping away from him quickly, her breathing hammering as if she had been running for her life, "I..."

"My mistake," he hung his head slightly in apology, "I misread the situation."

"No," she half shouted still breathing hard, "I just…"

"There is no need for an explanation, Hermione," he said walking toward the door, already knowing that he would have to do something drastic to deal with this particularly hurtful rebuff, "I know well how we landed in this marriage."

"Draco," mixed emotions danced in her eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to care enough to decipher what they meant at the moment, "I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about, Mrs. Granger-Malfoy," he left the room to give her the space she surely needed and went down the stairs with the kind of efficiency that only came with years of traveling down to the Slytherin Dungeon. "Nym!"

"Master Draco, sir," Nym bent her elfin head in respect, "how can Nym be of service?"

"Notify mother that I will be over for lunch, will you?" he said as he reached for his wand and conjured robes over his muggle clothes, knowing his mother would give him an ear full otherwise.

"Yes, master," the elf disapparated as he walked toward the floo. He picked up the powder and spoke clearly.

"Malfoy Manor, Narcissa Malfoy's sitting room," before he could throw the powder, however, Hermione ran down the stairs.

"I just want to explain—" He waited long enough for her to turn the corner and make eye contact, but he didn't let her finish her thought. Frankly, he wasn't interested and his pride was injured at her constant squirming from him so he dropped the powder violently, knowing she wouldn't follow him where he was going.

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

 _Dear Readers,_

 _I bet you thought I had forsaken you, but nothing of the sort has happened. I have just been through a lot this month: I am trying to plan my move to another state, I have sadly ended a three-year relationship and I have found out I have gallstones. I have been rather miserable lately. Luckily for you, however, this means I am incredibly productive (though scatter-brained) writer._

 _I will be updating the story a lot in the next few days because…_ _ **drumroll**_ _… I have ten thousand new words to add to this crazy story. It is starting to look like this story is going to have over fifty chapters and that fills me with happiness; happiness that I hope you share._

 _I hope you haven't left my story, and that you are excited to have me back. I have felt so sucky for being away for so long… Anyway, enjoy and review._

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone_

 _P.S.: this chapter goes out to our new guest reader, Goose. Thanks for the love and support :)_


	21. When Grown Men Run to Mummy

_Song of Choice for Today's Chapter:_

 _Coffee by Sylvan Esso_

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

Narcissa Malfoy sat across her son as they enjoyed a quiet lunch. Of course, she wasn't fooled by the front her only child was putting. She knew perfectly well that he was usually content off in his secret hideout, playing house with his new wife. The dysfunctional match seemed to be as unstable as the magic outbursts of which Nym had informed her.

"Dragon," his stormy silvery blue eyes snapped out of the reverie he had been immersed in by looking into the similarly colored sky. "Not that I am not enjoying our riveting erudite exchange," she said with little maliciousness and loads of sass, "but are you planning on sulking for the entirety of the meal?"

"My apologies, mother," he cleared his throat, "how has your day been?"

"Save the pleasantries, Draco," she allowed herself to indulge in a significant eye roll that would have sent her own mother into a fine frenzy, "We both know you could not possibly care less for my day and I don't blame you. These days are positively boring at best or plagued by these odious attacks on our kind at worst."

"We don't have a kind mother," he sighed dejectedly.

"Has she been brainwashing you, dear?" she smirked entertained, "of course we have a kind, there's a thorough list of it in case you have forgotten."

"I refuse to entertain the kind of hateful speech that father basked in, Mother," he cautioned angry.

"Oh, pish posh," she batted her hand in the air sending an imaginary fly away, "I am not talking about superiority, child. I am just talking of all of us belonging to a targeted group. What has your wand in such a twist anyway?" He looked at her in utter shock, probably because this was the most indecorous phrase she had ever spoken in his presence. "Oh, Draco," she teased, "didn't think mummy had it in her, did you?"

"The only thing I am currently thinking," he looked at her down his nose in an utmost Malfoy way, "is that _mummy_ has clearly been taken and that a polyjuice potion is at play."

"I am perfectly fine, I assure you," she cut another bite of perfectly cooked roast beef and carried it into her mouth. Once she was done chewing under her son's thoughtful gaze she added, "Will you tell me what made you come seeking a respite from your domestic life or should I take educated guesses at it?"

"Domestic life?" he repeated amused for a second before setting his barely touched plate of food aside with a sigh, "I just needed to take a breather and knew you'd probably like to see me."

"I see," she said reaching out for her glass of deep red wine than matched her robes, "is she still at the house?"

"I believe so," he nodded.

"I see," she repeated again, but this time without elaborating.

"What is it that you see, Mother?" he looked at her as if trying to gain some insight from her features, which they both knew to be a perfect waste of time.

"Arranged marriages take a lot of work and a lot of tolls on a person," she gave him a look that tried to convey exactly what she meant but couldn't say. "Your father and I hated each other for the better part of the first year of our own marriage." This comment seemed to take him aback.

"What are you talking about?" he asked confused, "I have been told stories of your automatic connection my entire life."

"A strong connection indeed," she admitted, "but even then I was who I am today, Dragon, and I am not one to take a slap and go quietly about it. Do you really think that when I was married off at seventeen I took it kindly? Your poor father spent half his time hex and the other half apologizing for the most ridiculous things that seemed to trigger the very worst of my Black temper."

"But I've seen articles and pictures taken," Draco shook his head in confusion, "you were the wizarding Britain's sweethearts!"

"The cameras saw what your father wanted them to see, what I wanted them to see," she smirked entertained by the long gone craftiness of a young Lucius and Narcissa, "arranged marriages are the toughest kind of marriages. You have the same difficulties as a regular marriage, but without the knowledge of each other or the deep understanding and caring that develops over the years leading up to your ceremony. You are forced to share the most private of thoughts and moments with a stranger. It is natural for it to be difficult, Draco. Your marriage is a particularly complicated one, dear. You bullied your wife as a child in school, your aunt nearly killed her in your own home, and you fought a war _against_ each other! She will not be quick to trust you, and you will have a lot of making up and groveling to do for the rest of your life, child."

"Don't you think I know that?" he snapped.

"Watch yourself, Draco Lucius, you are still my child and I am still your mother," she warned with a deadly look in her eyes, "You need to control your temper, ego and pride, Draco. They could be responsible for the failure of your marriage."

"Yes, Mother," he nodded annoyed.

"I didn't think I needed to tell you why this family needs your marriage to succeed, but I will because, obviously, a reminder is in order," she said taking another perfect sip from her wine, "Being linked to your wife was the best thing that could have happened to us. Hermione is not only the most brilliant witch of your generation, but she is also newly magically inclined. Your marriage represents the dawn of a new era for our family. I am doing all I can by being the face of our community as we try to land on our feet after this mess, but being married to her can rehabilitate our family image almost instantly in this new social and political experiment being carried out by the ministry. And while this is an incredibly welcome side effect, the most important effect of her joining our family is the new magical influx she is going to bring into our bloodline. You are quite brilliant, my dragon; when the two of you have children, they will be unstoppable."

"She is not an asset for us to use, she is a person with feelings, fears and aspirations, Mother," he reprimanded, "she is more than a tool!"

"We are all pieces in a game of chess, Draco," she said perfectly calm, "and it is our connections, assets, information and magic that determine if we play the role of a queen or of a pawn."

"You are wrong," he said looking out the window again, "Hermione is not a piece at all, she is the one ordering the pieces to move across the board."

"The more reason to ingratiate ourselves with her, then," she gave her plate a small shove forward, an indication of being done with it. "May I suggest apologizing for whatever it is that you did to her? I find that an honest apology and a gift made in good faith works wonders."

"Hermione is not like other witches, Mother," he sighed tired as the lunch plates were replaced by small bowls of green tea ice cream, her favorite. "Jewelry or clothes will not work on her."

"Of course _those_ gifts won't work!" she said trying not to roll her eyes heavenwards as she stood to walk over to the window, "a bit of effort, dear, please. You need to get Hermione something that she wants dearly but would refuse to get for herself."

"Books?" he asked as his mother passed him. THUMP! "Ouch!" Draco said in shock at what had just happened; "you actually hit me?" the amazement was obvious.

"You earned it with the highest marks," she reproached, "seriously Draco? Books? You are trying to tell me that my daughter-in-law doesn't ever buy herself books?"

"Okay, okay…" he said going back to thinking, "what about if I take her away?"

"Interesting," said Narcissa looking out the window and at the myriads of rose bushes that decorated her garden. "Do you know where she would like to go?"

"I could ask her," he stuttered quickly and changed his mind as his mother raised her hand to flick his nose, "I-I mean, I will ask her friends in secret?"

"I am sure Blaise's wife will have valuable input to share," she smiled a radiant smile, pleased with the turn of events. "And talking about the former Miss Weasley," she pulled out an invitation made in the highest quality parchment available in the market, "would you mind giving her this? It is an invitation to the marriage celebration our community is putting on for the marriages that involve the solely magical."

"I'm sorry?" Draco was now studying his mother as if she had just spoken in parseltongue.

"Well, I think I speak not only as a member of our community but as a mother when I say that the way the marriages were carried out was appalling," she sniffed insulted, "I would like to celebrate your marriage and that of everyone else belonging to our community. It is also a wonderful opportunity for us to welcome our new in-laws."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Draco asked skeptical, "what with the attacks and certain members of our _loving_ community…?"

"I have created a council that is made up of all the solely magically inclined mothers and grandmothers of our community."

"How does a council, even one as admittedly terrifying as the one you just described, address the concerns I just voiced?" he said confused.

"The celebration was approved unanimously," she smiled slyly, "I am sure everyone in attendance will be on his or her best behavior."

"Ah," he said entertained, "the old behave or face a very angry matriarch strategy, I see."

"Precisely," she nodded, "I will make sure your wife receives your invitation. Off to Zabini's you go, puppet."

"Puppet?" he asked amused as his mother pushed him in the direction of the fireplace.

"I heard it on a non-magical show Nym likes to watch in that interactive box you got her last Christmas," she shrugged.

"Oh, mother," he chuckled softly, "you never cease to surprise me."

"Yes, yes," she said offering him the floo powder, "my kiss, please," she offered her cheeks.

"Bye, puppet," he sassed giving her one peck on each as was their tradition, "Ginevra Zabini's home, main foyer!"

The flames licked at her son's body and soon it was gone. Narcissa returned to the table and calmly finished both her ice cream and the untouched bowl her son had forgotten to eat.

"Nym!" she called once done.

"Mistress," said the elf appearing and bowing at once.

"Please notify Hermione that, if it would be acceptable," she cleared her throat, "I would like to meet her for afternoon tea. Do try to not take no for an answer."

"Yes, Mistress," she said disappearing.

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

 _Dear Readers,_

 _I know this is a short chapter but I still felt like the mother-son exchange deserved its own space and spotlight. Will Hermione run for the hills or sit down for tea with her monster-in-law? Will Ginny help Draco? We will find out!_

 _Don't forget to subscribe to this crazy story and to review; I love to hear your thoughts and your constructive criticism :)_

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone_


	22. The Parkinson Pot Roast

_Song of Choice for Today's Chapter:_

 _Gold by Chet Faker_

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

Harry had woken up with a terrible pain behind his eyes that morning. By lunchtime, it had become so unbearable that he had gone over to Ron's office and told him he was taking off. The redhead had been too engrossed on some file before him because he simply nodded and wished him a good rest of the day. Without having anywhere else to go, Harry had decided to call it a day entirely and simply go to the apartment he and Pansy shared.

As soon as he crossed the threshold he got the sensation that something was off. It took him a couple of seconds to determine exactly what it was that was out of place.

"Music," he finally whispered to himself as he took in the half blues half soul tune that was originating from somewhere in the walls. He decided to follow the soft humming that was coming from the kitchen, "Pans?" he mutter softly the nickname that still felt a bit odd.

"Harold?" she turned around so fast she almost lost her balance on those deadly heels she loved to wear, "What are you doing here?" she asked picking up her wand and checking the time.

"I wasn't feeling well," he explained as he walked over to her side. "Are you cooking?"

"I am," she nodded as she looked into the oven to check on whatever it was she was cooking, "it's the famous Parkinson Pot Roast."

"Famous, huh?" he said as he reached over to give her a small kiss on the cheek, "did someone find their death with a bite?" he chuckled at his own joke.

"My great, great, great grandmother Ethel would haunt however dared do such a thing with her Pot Roast," she huffed as she charmed the dishes clean, "I am pretty sure, however, that someone's husband die at the hands of a Parkinson Pie."

"Okay," he said to himself, "avoid the pie at all costs."

"You should go upstairs and rest some," she instructed as she went about the kitchen, "the roast will need to be in the oven for another four hours," she shrugged, "I wasn't expecting you early."

"Are you sure you don't need any help here?" he asked looking around not knowing how to help but offering either way.

"Shoo, Potter," she said waving goodbye with a rather big knife in hand.

He had been relaxing in their newly renovated room when Pansy appeared in the doorway. She was still in the same clothes she had worn to work that morning even though she had made it to the apartment before he had. The tight black skirt and blouse number told him she had met with non-magical clients today.

"How was work today?" she asked conversationally as she went to the walk-in closet to put some regular clothes on.

"It was a literal headache," he admitted taking off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Even with Hermione's careful record keeping we are having trouble pinning these acts to any of the D.A. members. I don't know if it is because we are too deeply involved with each one of them, or because they are that good at covering any trail leading back to them."

"Maybe it is a combination of both," her voice shouted from the closet and then came a soft sigh, letting him know she had finally stepped out of the torture devices she called shoes.

"Pans," he called awkwardly, "why do you insist on mutilating your feet? Seriously, that can't be healthy for your circulation, woman."

"Who needs proper blood flow when you can have Christian Louboutin, Harold?" she painfully cracked her toes against the carpet-covered floor as she walked back into the room with a container in hand. He pointedly ignored the way her white shorts clung to her strong tights and the plunging cleavage of her spaghetti strapped top that matched her scarlet nail polish, choosing to instead pat the bed next to him. Pansy crawled onto their new, rich blue covers and put her feet on Harry's lap as they had gotten around to doing in the short span of their marriage.

"Cream, please," he stretched out his hand for the container. A few seconds later his fingers where digging into his wife's insoles, making her utter little satisfied moans as the day's pressure finally left her tired feet.

"Merlin, that feels good," she moaned her relief. "If being an auror doesn't pan out again, you should consider going into the massage industry."

"Your feet are particularly swollen today," he mentioned ignoring her previous observation.

"I am working with a very picky client," she explained as he worked out the painful knots, "he wanted to check out several different designers, and since he is non-magically inclined I had to walk a great lot today."

"Hmmm," he said noncommittally. They spent a few moments in silence and then Pansy let out a long sigh, as if she was preparing to do something she would much rather not do.

"Harry," she said taking her feet away from him and crossing her legs under her, "I am sure that by now you have realized that I am not the domestic type."

"I mean, you work a lot," he said trying not to say the wrong thing in case it was a test, "I don't expect you to come home and cook a big meal, although the Pot Roast smells delicious."

"Thanks," she laughed, "but that is not where this is going. The reason why I made food today is because I was hoping we could have a talk tonight when you came home from work."

"Is everything okay, Pans?" he asked feeling a small pang of worry.

The truth was that he often worried about her wellbeing and her happiness. It couldn't be easy to be married to someone who you know loves someone else; even if that someone else was apparently soul bonded to yet another person. Harry felt the perennial dark cloud over his head grow gloomier. Lately, thoughts of Ginny were like thorns that were buried deep in his feet; every step he took was accompanied by crippling pain. The fact that he took it so poorly, in turn, made him feel like a terrible husband to Pansy once more. It was the most terrible of vicious cycles.

"It's not I who is unwell," she said as her gaze softened. "I have known you for many years, Harry Potter, and the truth is that every year that passes you become more and more miserable looking."

"I am not—"

"Do you think that if you say it enough times it will become true?" she asked sarcastically, "that's not how you address the kinds of feelings with which you are obviously dealing."

It would be a lie to say that, for a second, Harry didn't consider slipping on his mask of 'I am the Chosen One, nothing can hurt me, I can handle anything', but the truth was that Pansy was right. Ignoring his feelings for the last couple of years hadn't done him much good. In fact, by the ever-worried looks that were constantly exchanged between the Weasley and Hermione, he knew the opposite was true.

"I don't know what to say," he admitted to her. Honestly, what could he say that wouldn't make him sound like a coward that couldn't deal with the cards destiny had dealt him?

"How about you start at the beginning?" she whispered reaching out for his hand. He was certain she felt awkward, but he also knew she would refuse to let go. "When did you start feeling like this?"

"I can't tell you that," he said looking down at his lap. He had never told anyone when his feelings of worthlessness had started; but if he ever told anyone, it wouldn't be his wife.

"Yes, you can," she encouraged him with a gentle squeeze of his hand, "There is nothing that you can say that can change my opinion about you, Harry. I know we didn't come to be married in a traditional way, but I am still your wife and you can always share your burdens with me. You no longer have to do life by yourself."

"I really can't, Pansy," he said tearing his hand away from hers, "I appreciate what you are trying to do, but I just can't tell you."

"Merlin, Harry, what could possibly be so terrible that you can't—" she was interrupted by a timer charm. The food that she had slaved for hours to make was ready; yet the last thing he wanted to do was eat. Regardless, anything was better than the conversation that they were currently having so he got off the bed.

"Come on," he said as he helped her up as well, "I am dying to try the Parkinson Pot Roast."

"This conversation is not over," she said as she made her way down to the kitchen, "I refuse to give up on you, Harold. I am here to stay and you better wise up and understand that."

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

 _Dear Daphne,_

 _It feels like ages since we last spoke, and I am sorry I didn't make a bigger effort to stay in contact after school; I don't know how else to excuse myself other than stating that life happens and it tends to get in the way of friendships. I know this will seem like I am only reaching out because I need something from my old roommate but in reality, I am reaching out because you were always so much better at addressing difficult subjects with love and care._

 _I am sure you have since found out that I married Harry Potter in the first round of the ceremonies. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if even non-magical people knew a certain Parkinson married The Boy Who Lived; I swear to you, every day my disdain for that pestilent Rita Skeeter grows and grows. Regardless, I am reaching out because Harry is going through a very complicated situation and I wish to help him but I never seem to find the right words that will let him know I wish to share his worries. I even tried the famous Parkinson Pot Roast, but it was a complete bust. He didn't seem to enjoy it much even though it was quite delicious._

 _I know it doesn't sound like me at all, to want to help the man I once condemned to death, right? But the truth is that there is so much more to him and to his suffering than meets the eye, Daphne. He saved me, you know? I was attacked the night before the ceremonies took place, I had been out dancing and before I knew it I was alone in the dark street. I'll save you the gory details, but let's just say that, even now that the war is over, Harry still deserves the title of Savior._

 _I am asking for a lot, but could you please meet me? I will go to wherever you prefer or feel more comfortable if that is Greengrass Manor or elsewhere, it is all the same to me. There is nothing in the news about you, or whom you married; it makes me sad, envious and happy in equal parts. Sad, because I don't know what has come of you, envious, because I so wish I could keep my marriage away from intrusive gossipers, and happy, because usually no news is good news._

 _Hope to hear for you soon,_

 _Pansy._

 _P.S.: I've instructed the owl to wait for your response._


	23. My Sweet

_Song of Choice for Today's Chapter:_

 _To Build a Home by The Cinematic Orchestra featuring Patrick Watson_

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

"Why would I ever help you?" she asked the blonde that stood in front of her. He looked mildly annoyed at her question but she didn't care. This dweeb went was responsible for endless bouts of her best friend's tears. He had insulted her day in and day out, he had harassed her, he had gotten good laughs when bad thing happened to her; as far as Ginny was concerned, Draco Malfoy had a lifetime worth of groveling to do.

"I am perfectly aware that the last thing you want to do is help me," he sounded tired and annoyed, "but I think that if you look at my inquiries as a means to making Hermione happy while keeping her safe and away from the mess, it might become a bit more bearable to answer my questions."

"Do you know her at all?" Ginny rolled her eyes, "Seriously for someone that spent years exploiting her weakness," he winced painfully, but she could not care less about his feelings, "you really are clueless. There is nothing that will be able to keep Hermione from fighting for a just cause. Especially if her two best friends are involved in it."

"I know I can't put her under house arrest," he snapped angrily, "that is not what I would like to do at all. I want to take her away from this mess, a vacation of sorts. I want her to relax for a change."

"I'm sorry but, relax?" she laughed loudly, "are you sure you know who your wife is?"

"Yes, Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy," he snarled, "about this tall, with soft brown curls, and almond-shaped chocolate eyes, enormous brain and an even bigger heart."

"Careful Drake," warned Blaise's voice as he arrived home after a short day of work as Gringotts' external affairs officer, "if the press catches even the smallest whiff of your undying love for your wife they will have a field day."

"Blaisey," he cautioned in the same tone, "your wife already hates me and I doubt hurting you will result in her liking me any better."

"I don't know," she answered entertained, "I am a Weasley after all and I do enjoy a good jinx."

"Expeliarmus!" said Blaise as he got a hold of his friend's wand, "Now, now, children. No magic before high tea time."

Blaise walked over to her and seemed to want to peck her cheek. She felt herself go stiff at the approach; the shift must have been clearly evidenced in her posture, because he seemed to think better of it and settled for a smile, which she returned tenfold to make up for the sting of rejection.

"Hello husband," she said in her best imitation of a high society wife, "did all go well at work today? I have been caring for the house and our children all day," she batted her eyelashes at him.

"Has she gone mental?" the blonde asked Blaise.

"This is her twisted sense of humor telling me she is tired of being at home," he informed his friend without taking his eyes away from her, "The off-season is almost over, pumpkin, you will be back on your broom in no time."

"You are letting her go back to Quidditch?" asked their visitor shocked.

"Excuse me?" her snap full of impudence.

"I don't _let_ her do anything," Blaise said entertained by her outburst, "Ginevra is a grown woman who is capable of deciding what she wants to do without my input. If she wishes to fly through the air at great heights and even greater speeds with temperamental balls trying to knock her off her broom, then I trust her choice and her skills."

"I can almost hear the crackling of the whip," said the blonde sardonically.

"And I can must certainly hear Hermione's cries of desperation for her entrapment in that gilded cage you call home," he shrugged, "Have you never been to one of Holyhead Harpies' games?"

"Can't say I have, no."

"Have you?" asked Ginny curious at the turn the conversation had taken. She couldn't ever remember ever being so interested in the comings and goings of an unmarried Blaise.

"Of course I have," he said looking mildly insulted. Why he looked insulted was anyone's guess, though, because they had been married in the off-season and, as far as she knew, Blaise wasn't a Harpies fan. "Ginevra is a brilliant chaser, Draco, I cannot keep her off a broom any more than you can keep Hermione away from a library."

"This is not what I am here to discuss," said Draco as he shook his head to clear his mind, "I am here because I want to know if there is a place, any place, that Hermione has been itching to visit. Paris? Rome? Sidney?"

"Whatever you do," Ginny cautioned quickly, "keep her away from Australia. That's where her parents live and the last thing she needs is to be close enough to try and have another go at reverting her failed memory charm."

"Of course," a look of pain might have gone over the snobbish man's face, but she paid it little attention. "Anything else I should know?"

"Yes," she said with a sigh as she decided that helping the ignorant man was probably for the best, "I have known Hermione for a long time and the only thing that rivals her need for justice is her thirst of knowledge. If you want to actually succeed in taking her away on vacation, then you are going about planning it the wrong way. Make this trip about you, about getting to know this _new_ you with which you all seemed to be so impressed."

"Brilliant," said the blonde already planning on his feet, "you are absolutely brilliant, Weasley."

"Zabini," corrected Blaise.

"Actually," Ginny said biting her lower lip, "there is a very slight, yet real, possibility that I might have had a floo call with Hermione a week ago during which we probably discussed hyphenating our names."

"What?" Blaise gasped in outraged shocked as Draco had a good, heartfelt laugh.

"Hey," she smiled sheepishly, "at least I kept Zabini there."

"It's been done already?" he asked even more shocked while the arrogant blonde held on to the nearest wall to prevent him from collapsing onto the floor.

"Someone in the Ministry owed Hermione a favor and it was rushed through," she shrugged, "I am officially Ginevra Weasley-Zabini."

"Are you hearing this?" he turned to his friend, who now had tears running down his face.

"Oh. Yes. I. Did." He said as he gasped for breath, "He-Hermione told me," he laughed harder, "a few days a-ago."

"Seriously?" he looked at her now with hurt in his eyes as he forgot all about his friend, "you just went and changed your name without even telling me about it first?"

"You said it yourself," she said defensively, "I am a grown woman."

"This is not about—" he stopped and then said, "You know what, fine. I am going to take a shower," he turned to Draco, who had finally regained his composure, "here's your wand, child. I trust that you know how to get home." He was gone in seconds.

"What else can I help you with?" she turned to face the former Slytherin that remained.

"I have found the answers I came looking for," he said shaking his head, "let me offer some help in return."

"Excuse you?" she asked confused by the weird look on the wizard's face.

"If you had pulled out a knife and disemboweled Blaise a few seconds ago," she made a disgusted noise at the mental image, "it would have hurt him less than the name change."

"What are you talking about?" she was now truly puzzled.

"Here's a little insight into your husband's brains, ready?" he didn't wait for an answer, "Blaise's mother has made many a man feel absolutely replaceable by moving from one surname to the next, without any kind of remorse before their untimely death came about."

"What does that have to do with me wanting to keep family name?" she asked flustered at the guilt trip.

"The stunt you and Hermione pulled was even worse than the ones Bellissa pulls, minus the suspicious deaths," he said focusing his gaze on his wand instead of her eyes, "You two made it clear that our surnames are an unwelcome burden in your lives."

"That is not what the change was about!" she cried insulted.

"Maybe, but that is honestly what it felt like," he shrugged making his way to the floo, but stopping, "Almost forgot, my mother wanted me to give you this; it's an invitation to some ceremony" he explained resuming his walk to the chimney, "Go fix your mess, I have a vacation to plan."

"Ugh," she grunted as she went up the stairs to try to find a solution to the apparent issue with Blaise, "Wizards these days are such delicate flowers…"

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

"Blaise?" came a soft knock on his door as soon as he was out of the shower, "Can I come in?"

"I just got out of the shower," he grunted, "If you want, once I've dressed, I can go meet you."

"I don't mind," Ginevra's voice sounded infinitely small and the meekness of it truly annoyed him. He went to the door and pulled it open.

"Please," he gestured to his room, "make yourself at home."

"I, uh," she was not even bothering to pretend to make eye contact, choosing instead to violently gawked at his naked body. The intensity of her gaze was making his magic stir and his blood go south, " What?"

"I was thinking about getting dressed," he admitted as he stretched only to show off his muscled physique while her eyes tried to consume him alive, "but your unscrupulous ogling is a welcome change from your usually disinterested approach toward me."

"Can I please have a human moment?" she finally asked after forcing herself to look at the ceiling.

"I have no idea what such a moment would entail," he shrugged, "but knock yourself out, pumpkin." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, her hands were on tracing his naked chest.

"Merlin!" The now familiar electricity stung enjoyably wherever she touched his skin, "you look like you belong in a museum, Blaise."

"A masterpiece of ebony, huh?" he was trying to make fun of her but, since her hands had now dropped to his abdominal muscles, his voice came out rather throaty, "like what you see, sweet wife?"

"Yes," she said dropping her gaze and her hands away as the most delicious of blushes spread all over her face and neck, which was exposed in the off the shoulder sundress she had chosen that morning.

"No need to be ashamed, pumpkin," he physically brought her gaze to meet his by holding onto her chin, "it's all yours."

"Ha!" the would-be laughed came out as a frustrated moan.

"You might not want to believe me, but I mean it," As much as he loved to distract his innocent wife he was would end up catching a cold if he lounged around half naked any longer, so he started making his way to the closet.

"It's not nice to tease, Blaise," that stopped him right on his tracks.

"If there is anyone who is a tease in this world," he said getting in her face within seconds, "it's you, Ginevra. You gallivant around the flat in cute little dresses that make you look better than any wet dream I've ever had while thoroughly ignoring me."

"I-I…" she tried to speak but the only thing she managed to do was babble and flush, "I can't even think when you are standing in front of me naked."

"I am not naked," he said cheekily, "but it can be arranged if you so wish." He was going to pretend to undo the knot that kept his towel tightly around his hips, but when the only thing that shone in his wife's eyes was desire and curiosity, he actually let his towel drop to the floor. "Still like what you see?" Her eyes were wide and her pupils had dilated so much that her eyes looked black rather than their usual light brown.

Her only answer was a nod.

"Can I safely approach without risking a Bat-Bogey?" he asked only partially joking. His comment had the desired effect; she cracked a small smile as her eyes widened in anticipation of what could be about to happen. He was now only an inch or two away from her. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do Ginevra."

"I was supposed to tell you something," she said focusing her gaze on his, "but I can't remember what it was now. It was important."

"I am far more interested in what is going on right here, pumpkin," his hand reached out to touch her cheek out of its own volition. He took it as a good sign when she pushed into his touch instead of recoiling from it. The electricity was stronger than it ever was before, it made the touch almost unbearable but at the same time too desirable to stop.

"Blaise, I—"

"I won't do anything that you cannot handle, Ginevra," he whispered as he brushed his lips across hers, "if you grow overwhelmed, I can stop."

"Okay," it was such a soft whisper that he barely heard it himself. He picked her up in his arms with as much care as he could, kissing her as if she might fall apart if he was anything else than gentle. Her legs wrapped around his waist and locked over his bum. Suddenly he was very aware of how wet her core was.

"Good Lord, Ginevra," he said gripping her waist tighter, as he dove for another maddeningly soft kiss. Her lips tasted of the sweetest honey he had ever encountered. "I am one lucky bastard." He took her to his bed and set her down gently, "remember, we don't have to do anything you don't want to do," she tried nodding her understanding but that wasn't good enough for him, "I need you to say it, Ginevra."

"We don't have to do anything I don't want to do," she whispered breathily as she raised her arms for him to take off her dress. Once he did, he gulped audibly. If he had thought she was pretty back in their Hogwarts days, the woman before him was absolutely breathtaking. Her skin was a perfect creamy tone, with just the right amount of freckles sprinkled all over it.

"You are gorgeous, Ginevra," he said as he admired every inch of her.

"Blaise," she sighed his name softly, "get me out of these clothes, please." With practiced skill, he had her fully exposed in the blink of an eye. "Hurry, Blaise, I might lose my nerve."

He chose to disregard her warning; instead he lowered himself on her and kissed her with all the care someone like her deserved. He explored every corner of her mouth with his kisses, only stopping to allow her to get more air. He traveled down to her neck and softly explored the spot where her neck became her shoulder.

"Ah!" the moan was so loud he was slightly shocked, "Sorry!"

"Never apologize to me for anything that happens here," he said caressing her nose with his, "I want you, Ginevra, there is nothing you can do that can make you any less attractive." She snaked her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply.

"I'm ready when you are, Blaise," she said as she let go of him so he could continue his ministrations. He peppered kisses down her neck to her chest and down to her navel. He was getting ready to kiss her very core when she stopped him.

"Are you okay?" he asked worried.

"I am more than okay," she confirmed with an anxious laugh, "and while it would be absolutely lovely to have you kiss me all the way down to my toes, I cannot wait any longer, Blaise. The bond's sting is going to destroy my senses."

"I will move only if you promise me I will have a chance to devour you later," he said before taking a long and languid taste of her core.

"I promise to insist on it," she said pulling him up to her face, "Please, Blaise?"

"I need to stretch you out first, pumpkin," he said worried, "I could hurt you otherwise."

"Blaise, please," she pleaded desperately as she rolled her hips against him, searching desperately for friction. He pushed inside of her with one clean thrust and became aware of two things instantly. The first was that Ginevra might have the tightest core in the history of humanity. The second was that she had been a virgin up until that moment.

"What?" he said looking down between them at the traces of blood on the otherwise grey sheets, "Gin—"

"Hush, Blaise," she muttered softly as she began to open her scrunched up eyes, "It didn't hurt that bad."

"You should have told me," he said, reaching up to caress her face and kiss her softly, "I would have done something more special for your—"

"Blaise?" she interrupted.

"Yes, my sweet?" he was both worried and excited out of his mind. He was the first and, if he had any say in it, the last man to ever know her in this manner.

"You can move now," she encouraged him with a small shove, "please Blaise, my blood, and magic are singing." Underneath all his concern and exhilaration he too felt it. He began thrusting into her, softly at first and then harder. Their breaths turned into moans and their moans into desperate screams. Finally, Ginevra let out a loud groan as she was overtaken by sensations foreign to her until then. The sight of her pleasure sent Blaise over the edge with her. He didn't know how much time had passed, but the world could have been burning for all they cared. Ginevra was completely relaxed under him, but he still didn't want to squeeze her so he rolled off her.

"I wasn't quite ready for you to leave me yet," she said cuddling into his side.

"Unless you cast me away, I will never leave you, my sweet," he kissed her forehead.

"My sweet, huh?" she tormented him.

"I didn't get to thoroughly sample you," he said shamelessly, "but yes, my sweet."

"Oh Godric," she said hiding her face in his chest, "I am never going to be able to show my face in public if you call me that outside of the bedroom."

"Talking about the bedroom," he said conversationally, "would you be interested in upgrading from flatmate to roommate?"

"Are you?" she asked looking at his chest, "after all it was you who put me in a separate room. I am pretty sure everyone else shares a bed."

"I assure you, I only did it because you were going through some very difficult times," he sighed, "I guess that you still kind of are, aren't you?"

"It takes time, Blaise," she shrugged and planted a kiss on his smooth chest, "which reminds me."

"What?" he asked confused.

"I came here to explain to you why I changed my name," he felt his spine stiffen at the comment, "No, no. You listen to me Blaise Zabini. I changed my name because I need to maintain a bit of my identity. It is about me wanting to keep a hold on the woman I was before I married you, not about me trying to make you replaceable."

"Draco talked to you, huh?" he sighed annoyed at his best friend.

"He did, and frankly," she huffed annoyed, "what the hell, Blaise? You are half my magic and half my soul; I am rather attached to both of those things. No more of this ridiculousness. "

"Yes, Ginevra," he couldn't help but laugh at the lecture.

"After today, I don't expect to have to remind you just how irreplaceable you are," she said blushing as she said it.

"About that, I was wondering—"

"Oh, no," she stopped him, "We are not going to chat about it, Blaise. This is just how things happened. My soul chose you and your soul chose me. End of story."

"Yes, my sweet," he chuckled again.

"Blaise?" he looked down at her, "can we do it again?"

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

 _Dear Readers,_

 _I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. It honestly just felt like the right moment for Blaise and Ginny to cross the bridge. I know I have some diehard Dramione and Parry fans that want to see things happen, and all I have to say is that: firstly, each couple has its own tempo; and secondly, good things come to those who wait. Trust me to be able to treat your ships with the appropriate care and respect each one deserves. I refuse to rush their stories._

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone_


	24. Spiked Tea & Wizarding World Domination

_Song of Choice for Today's Chapter:_

 _Funny by Tori Kelly (Live Version)_

 _Don't You Worry 'Bout a Thing by Tori Kelly_

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

After trying to get her mind off of Draco's hurt gaze with failed attempts at reading, napping, and gardening, Hermione had settle for sitting on the comfortable armchair Draco had put in a corner of their room for her. She wasn't sure how much time she had spent staring at the photograph they had taken on their wedding day, which now hung from their wall, but her neck felt a bit stiff when she instinctively turned at the pop that came from downstairs.

"Nym?" she called as she reached for her wand and made her way down the stairs, "Is that you?"

"Yes, Mistress Hermione," answered the sweet elf once she came into view, "Mistress Narcissa sent Nym to ask Mistress Hermione if Mistress Narcissa could have tea with Mistress Hermione." It took her a couple of seconds to decipher the complicated sentence the elf had spoken, and once she did she still checked in hopes she was mistaken.

"Narcissa Malfoy wants to come over for tea?" she asked baffled.

"Yes, Mistress Hermione," nodded the elf eagerly, "Mistress Narcissa asked Nym to try not to take no as answer."

"I see," said the brunette uncomfortable. She wanted to deny her mother-in-law, but she also didn't want to get the poor elf in trouble. In the end, her love for creatures won out, and she sighed, "Please tell Narcissa I will see her at tea time, Nym."

"Yes, Mistress Hermione," said the elf excited, "would you like Nym to prepare tea? Nym knows things Mistress Narcissa likes and not likes."

"If you are not otherwise busy," she blushed as she requested a favor from the elf, "I would love your help. I am a bit nervous about it, you see?"

"Mistress Narcissa loves Master Draco," the elf said as if it was supposed to calm her.

"Draco, yes, not me," she clarified.

"Master Draco loves Mistress Hermione," the elf explained as if she was a child, "Mistress Narcissa must love Mistress Hermione too."

"If you say so," Hermione didn't have it in her to burst the elf's bubble by elucidating the realities of her marriage to Draco or the fact that Draco most certainly did not love her. She knew Nym to be an incurable romantic that watched every movie or show that would end in a happily ever after, her little heart wouldn't be able to take it.

"Nym fixes everything, Mistress, you change for tea."

"I have to change?" Hermione looked down at her jeans and yellow sweater, "I thought I looked pretty in this."

"Nym helps," she said as she snapped her fingers, "Mistress' dress is on Mistress' bed, Mistress Hermione." The witch bit her tongue for the millionth time; she wanted to tell the elf off for calling her by such an archaic and disgusting title, but the one time she had tried to tell the elf she wasn't her mistress, Nym had bawled uncontrollably for hours as she asked for her forgiveness. Draco had had to force a sleeping draught down her throat to calm her down.

"Thank you, Nym," she said instead, "Can you please go notify Narcissa of our tea plans while I get ready?"

Four o'clock came around faster than Hermione cared for. She stood before the full body mirror in her walking closet examining every detail of her appearance. To her surprise, Nym had chosen a non-magical pastel-colored dress that her mother had gotten her during her Hogwarts days. The second she put it on, tea with Narcissa became about both honoring her mother and her upbringing and showing the regal witch that she was completely worthy of her son and their surname.

"No time to analyze that strange nugget of emotional information right now, Hermione," she told herself as she looked over her complexion once more, searching for imperfections. The sound of the floo announced Narcissa's arrival and, with one last look at her perfectly polished look and makeup, she went to meet her mother-in-law.

"Well aren't you a gorgeous vision in mint?" Hermione had to mindfully command her jaw not to drop, even though that was her first, second and third instinct. Was she hallucinating or had Narcissa Malfoy just complimented her?

"T-Thank you," she could kick herself, showing weakness before a witch like Narcissa was like bleeding in front of a shark.

"I guess I deserve the look of absolute shock in your face," the woman smiled softly, unsettling her with the lack of contempt that was usually there, "I was never nice to you before."

"Shall we?" said Hermione ushering her out to the garden where Nym had set out the tea, scones and a thorough assortment of colorful French pastries, "Please, do take a sit."

"Thank you, Hermione," She felt a strange sense of déjà vu sitting there with Narcissa, for it was the second time in a very short period that she had tea with a seemingly reformed Malfoy family member. She felt herself smile as she recalled the exchange she had shared with Draco at Kingsley's office over scones. "I imagine you are wondering why I asked to come over."

"The question did cross my mind," she admitted.

"I am sure you know Draco came over earlier today to see me," Hermione schooled her features in the way she thought Draco would if he were there at the moment. In situations such as this one it was crucial to not give away one's thoughts, even if they were running several miles a minute.

"Yes, I heard him leave via floo," she nodded, trying to hide her anxiety.

"I don't know what it was that he did," the witch said as she took it upon herself to serve the tea, even though it was technically Hermione's duty as a hostess, "but I assure you he wasn't trying to hurt your feelings or offend you."

It was at this point of the strange visit that a few different ideas dawned on Hermione. The first was that, while Draco had literally run to hide behind his mother, Narcissa did not have the faintest idea of what exactly had caused him to do so. The second was that even though she didn't know the specifics, Narcissa Malfoy had still felt compelled to go over and mend unknown bridges with Hermione. The third was that Narcissa, for the first time in the history of mankind, automatically assumed that her precious son was the one to have done wrong and was shockingly supporting her daughter-in-law.

"Why are you taking my side, Mrs. Malfoy?" Hermione asked keeping her running thoughts to herself.

"Oh, please, do call me Narcissa or Cissy," she said pushing her long hair over her shoulder, "to tell you the truth, to this day, whenever someone says Mrs. Malfoy I have to suppress the kneejerk reaction to look over my shoulder for Lucius' mother."

"Someone actually called me that at the Ministry a week ago when I was there on business," she said trying to predict the witch's reaction by taunting her, "I actually glanced around expecting to find you, Cissy."

"Really?" the witch's only reaction was surprised, "I would have expected you to keep your name."

"And why is that?" she asked not letting onto the fact that she had been at the Ministry to change both her name and Ginny's to a hyphenated version.

"Do not misunderstand me, I would gladly share our surname with you," her smile seemed to be entertained by Hermione's question, "while it does not inspire the same kind of awe and respect it once did it still links us to a rich history. Regardless, I just assumed you would want to keep your connection to your own family and history, after all witches do so nowadays and the Granger name is quite revered around the magical world thanks to your participation in the war."

"It's a muggle name, Cissy," she taunted yet again.

"Are you trying to affront me, dear?" the witch asked amused as she picked up a purple macaron.

"Not at all," she said taking a scone from the tray, the crunchy pastry was a bit difficult to eat with class but Hermione thought she had managed.

"Hermione," her mother-in-law observed her not missing a bit; she was sure she was going to jab at her lack of manners or something equally unpleasant, but instead the older witch said, "I am most pleased by your marriage to my son. You are quite the looker and a brilliant witch. If you expect me to be cross with you I am sorry to say you will be completely disappointed. In fact, I am here today to try and help my son fix whatever mess he made before he left."

"He didn't do anything to me, Narcissa," she sighed dejectedly, "it was I who hurt him." The witch took a deep breath taken aback by the turn of events. If she her mood hadn't been so rotten, Hermione would have found the woman's reaction comical.

"Well, I guess you are both trying to adapt to the new status quo," Narcissa said diplomatically, "if I can help in any way shape or form, please let me know."

Hermione stared at the woman as she tried to determine what her end game was. She was certain there must be something that Narcissa was trying to get out of Hermione; what it was, however, was anyone's guess. Not for the first time, she wished Draco hadn't left; he would probably know what was going through his mother's mind.

"I am not quite sure how it is you can help me," she said deciding to open up to the woman. Later Hermione would blame her irrational turn for honesty on her desperation for human exchange outside her husband.

"If you tell me your problems, I might surprise you," never before had her Narcissa resembled so much a cunning snake.

"I am a war heroine that married a former death eater on command of the Ministry of Magic. I am not good enough for Draco's acquaintances and my own friends are still rather reserved when it comes to him. No one has actually said it yet, but there is a very realistic expectation for me to start popping children left and right, Malfoy children at that. Children who don't even exist yet, but are already held to a standard beyond anything I could comprehend. I am still uncertain as to what I would like to do with my future, which is quite an outrageous admission for the 'most brilliant witch of her time!' The only thing at which I might be any good is getting involved with the investigations into the recent attacks and Draco most definitely wants the exact opposite; and even without Draco's disapproval, I cringe when considering the psychological repercussions of willingly going into another war" at the end of her tirade she was breathing hard and her eyes had watered. She wanted to cry long and hard but she refused to do it in front of the perfect witch that sat across from her sipping her tea calmly.

"Feel better, dear?" she sounded so full of motherly concern that Hermione wanted to both vomit at the tone and cry on the witch's lap.

"No."

"Listen, Hermione," Narcissa set her tea down softly in its saucer as she offered her a small chocolate croissant, "I know you won't believe me when I tell you this, but I actually know what you are going through."

"I honestly doubt that's—"

"No, no," interrupted the woman, "I am being completely serious. When I married Lucius I was younger than you are now and I actually felt similar pressures to the ones you are describing."

"I am sure you knew what to expect, after all, weren't society witches bred with the idea of a certain type of marriage in mind?" she sounded bitter to her own ears, and for once the other woman didn't deserve even an ounce of it.

"We were," she conceded, "but it didn't matter. I am sure you were told every day of your time at Hogwarts how brilliant you were and all the great things you could achieve, but would bet every single last coin in my vault that the knowledge of it made you no more certain or calm when the time to prove them right came around."

Hermione simply nodded her understanding and agreement, for her throat was too tight to allow speech.

"I could sit around and tell you all about how things get better in a jiffy or how after a while you are a natural, but I rather not lie to you," she shrugged, "I would much rather use a clinical approach to your problems, if I may."

"I've tried that already," she said hoarsely but the woman went on as if she had not spoken at all.

"You said the forced nature of your marriage was an issue because both sets of acquaintances are reticent to accept either one of you," Narcissa reached into her rich wine-colored robes and pulled out a small envelope, "I had already anticipated that kind of reaction for our crowd, dear; not only for you but for all those in your situation. This event is the perfect occasion to prove to everyone just how wrong we have been about you all."

"A wedding celebration is supposed to change an entire group's conceptions of our worthiness as wizards and witches?" she sounded beyond skeptical.

"Social events are the backbone of our community, it's how we meet, how we do business, and how we used to select spouses; do not underestimate the powers canapés and spirits ever again," a big smile was on Narcissa face, "Our job is a million times easier if you consider that the Ministry was so crafty in arranging the couples."

"You don't think the charm was real?" Hermione asked entertained.

"I choose to put my faith in something a bit more infallible, dear, and I find that assessing situations by looking into people's self-interest rarely leads me astray," Narcissa winked, "Most of your friends are married to Draco's friends, that in itself will ensure that, even if the celebration is a complete disaster, over time you will all become quite inseparable. Your children will all be the closest of friends, will attend Hogwarts together and eventually marry each other."

"Have you considered running for Ministry of Magic?" asked Hermione impressed by the woman's politically savvy mind.

"Have you?" Narcissa questioned, "I would never get elected, of course, but you would win without a doubt; and with my help, you wouldn't even have to move a finger."

"You can't be serious," Hermione said but leaned forward as the woman before her piqued her interest.

"I am most serious, dear," the witch said sitting straighter, if that were possible. "You are a war heroine who was recognized with the Order of Merlin's First Class for her brilliant contribution toward the Dark Lord's demise. You have done quite a lot good work through that unfortunately named organization of yours, too."

"Thank you," Hermione flushed slightly.

"And you are now a Malfoy, dear," the woman continued on, "Our family might have been stripped of many things following the war, but if we were to request the Wizengamot to bring the Malfoy seat out of retirement for you, I am sure they would agree without much fuss. You would be the obvious choice when it comes to filling the vacant Minister post. I am certain that Kingsley wouldn't mind retiring a bit earlier than originally planned if it meant leaving you in charge."

"Do you truly think so?" Hermione had never dared dream so big before for fear of seeming greedy or naïve, "Do you really think I could get away with doing this instead being a perfect society wife? I find the idea truly dreadful, no offense."

"No offense taken, dear. It is dreadful, I agree; which is probably why so few of us do it; choosing instead run the wizarding world via our husbands." Narcissa deadpanned so skillfully that both her and Hermione went into a laughing fit. It was in the mist of the hysterics that Draco found them in the garden.

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

As soon as he stepped out of the floo he went in search of his wife. When he found the bedroom and the library empty started making his way through the social areas of the home. When his eyes finally landed on the garden, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He knew his mother had entered his home, thanks to the layers and layers of wards, but he wasn't expecting quite this exact sight. His mother and wife were having a good laugh over tea. Was the world coming to an end? His feet, having a mind of their own, took him to them.

"Hermione, Mother," he nodded his hello to both of them, "Should I be glad or worried that the two of you are getting along so well?"

"Worried," they said in unison as they laughed even more.

"I see," he said as he shifted his weight uneasily.

"Join us, Draco," Hermione gestured at a spot next to her where she wandlessly and wordlessly apparated a chair identical to her own.

"Brilliant!" clapped Narcissa excited.

"Thank you, Cissy."

"Has the tea been spiked?" Draco felt as if he had somehow crossed over into another dimension. Neither witch answered his question choosing to instead continue with the conversation he had interrupted.

"It would be a lot of work," Narcissa nodded, "but you could do it."

"I guess I could, but what about the baby-popping?" Draco, who had been serving himself a cup of what he was certain was liquor-infused tea, lost his grip on the teapot; which thudded loudly against the table.

"Excuse me, what?" he asked as his mother fixed the mess with a crafty spell, "what in the world are you two talking about?"

"We are planning Hermione's rise through the Ministry's ranks to the top while we try to circumvent the many societal expectations of a Malfoy wife."

"Namely," Hermione explained, "the baby-popping."

"You don't want to have children?" he asked a bit surprised and then, turning to his mother, " _You_ don't want grandchildren?"

"We said nothing of the sort. I would love several grandchildren, thank you very much," Narcissa said insulted, "we are just planning the future to ensure that your wife can happily pursue her goals."

"Is that something you want?" Hermione asked flushing lightly, her eyes full of anxiety "Children, I mean."

"Two, ideally," he admitted as he shifted in his seat, uncomfortable at having this private conversation in front of his mother.

"Two circumspect Slytherin boys?" Hermione guessed.

"Healthy is my only request," he said shifting his gaze to the macarons on the table, "I haven't had these in years," he mentioned before popping the whole pastry into his mouth.

"Good Lord, Draco," Narcissa voiced her disgust, "I should have named you after a troll instead of a dragon." The comment caused his wife to chuckle lightly.

"Don't let her fool you," he told Hermione in a conspiratorial stage whisper, "I was named after a celestial body; nothing nearly as interesting, in my personal opinion."

" _Tu te crois tellement drôle, mon petit dragon?"_ Narcissa glanced evilly at her son, " _Ne me tente pas."_

" _Mes plus sincères excuses, maman_ " he said to his mother, and then he explained to his wife "I'm afraid Mother doesn't find me nearly as entertaining as I find myself," he shrugged.

" _Je n'ai pas besoin d'un traducteur, Draco_ ," Hermione moodily told him off. Intellectually, he knew he shouldn't have been surprised by the fact that her French, like everything else Hermione, was remarkable; but he still was.

"Of course you don't need a translator," beamed Narcissa, "you are going to make a fine Minister of Magic, Hermione."

"Let's not get overly excited," said the brunette, "there is still much to plan and plot."

"Then we better get started," Draco's statement seemed to shock Hermione.

"You really think I could do this?" the doubt in her voice revealing her lack of faith on her own success.

"Hermione, you could be the supreme ruler of the universe if you so wished," he shrugged, "Besides, there are certain perks to you being the Minister," she seemed like she wanted to tell him off for whatever awful idea she got from his comment, "Like the comprehensive auror team the Ministry will assign as your personal security."

"Draco," she groaned annoyed as Narcissa giggled.

"I propose we relocate inside into your office, dear," his mother said getting to her feet, "proper scheming requires a proper war room."

"My office is at your disposal," he said getting to his feet and helping Hermione up, "but wouldn't you prefer to take over the library? It's a bigger space."

"I guess that will work," Narcissa agreed picking up the macaron platter and making a break for the house, "at least that way you will not have to move all your work things around the home."

"Draco?" Hermione slowed her pace allowing them some privacy.

"Hmm?" he asked looking down at her small figure. His wife was a petite woman; the top of her head barely reached his chin.

"What work things?" Hermione asked curious.

"Hermione," he said stopping abruptly, "what exactly do you think I do every day in my office for hours on end?"

"I don't know," she had the decency to flush, "Read?"

"Seriously?"

"Fine," she granted, "having said it out loud I realize how ridiculous it sounds. So," she prompted, "what is it that my brilliant husband does in his hideout every day?"

"Are you schmoozing me so I'll donate to your campaign?"

"Most definitely," she teased right back. "The suspense is killing me, do tell me."

"I am the president of Malfoy Corporation," he explained, "an important conglomerate made up of smaller companies."

"Such as?"

"A lot of them had to be renamed after the war," he shrugged uncomfortably as he opened the French door so she could go inside, "I think you might have heard of a few of them at least. There's the former Malfoy Vineyards, which we decided should be called Vulpecula Vineyards. They mostly specialize in outrageously expensive wines that have been aged to perfection, like the Superior Red."

"Inspired by a Slytherin Dungeon password, I'm sure," she bumped her shoulder into him. "Tell me more, please."

"Can't stand to not know everything, can you?" she simply gave him the stink-eye, "Fine. My mother's family made much of its fortune in the fishing business; their company was called Black Fisheries. Malfoy Corporation acquired it when Sirius Black, you know. It is now called Hydra Fisheries."

"I see," her smile became a bit sad, but it didn't disappear completely, "more constellations, huh?"

"It's a Black thing," he shrugged, "better get used to it, too. Our children will suffer my same fate."

"Sure, I will" she didn't sound like she would.

"There's also Malfoy Apothecary," he continued following his wife's best friend's advice, sharing more of himself. "I didn't have the heart to rename the Apothecary, it just seemed wrong for some reason. It has been around for so long, I just couldn't."

"That's quite a few pies you have your finger in, husband of mine," she said looking up at him impressed.

"I haven't even gotten to the good part, either," he said letting the suspense build, "Have you heard of Pegasus Publishing?"

"No way!" she shouted excited, sending all propriety out the window as she jumped excitedly in place, "Pegasus Publishing is yours?" her eyes went wide in awe.

"It is _ours_ , yes," he then put his arm over her shoulders as he ushered her to the library, his mother would surely give him an earful for taking so long. "Good thing too, otherwise I would lose the family fortune buying your books." She slapped his chest playfully and then snaked her arm around his waist.

"Draco…" she trailed off, took a deep breath and tried again, "Draco, I'm sorry about this morning," her mumbles were barely audible, but he was close enough to make out the words, "I am still trying to adjust, and—"

"Time and place, Hermione," he interrupted her as they made it to the library all too fast for his liking. "We will talk about that later," he kissed her forehead gently trying to soften his harsh words, "for now, let us focus on your shot at Wizarding World Domination."

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

 _Dear Readers,_

 _Ten reviews in twenty-four hours! I am so happy that you all are excited to have me back. I was dreading the possibility of having no one left to read. Today, I got my first negative review and, although it hurt to read someone thinks my story is, and I quote, 'lame', I am taking it with a grain of salt._

 _ **RANT BEGINS HERE**_

 _I understand that I cannot please everyone, nor would I want to do such a thing. I write to fulfill a creative desire that I have neglected far too long in favor of school and other equally worthy endeavors. My biggest concern when I write is not to please every single person, but to stay true to the characters my imagination is creating. So what if Draco is not a complete and total asshole anymore? That just means he grew up and is trying to grovel. He still has a long way to go._

 _I've said this before and I'll say it again, I am trying to create emotionally complex characters that are affronted with very difficult realities. They are trying to deal with feelings of abandonment, worthlessness, the scary realities of persecution, surviving sexual assault, and facing the music for their actions. They are also daring to believe that they might be worth more than anyone bargained for them, they are trying to figure out what it is they want to do with their lives and how to reconcile aspirations with realities. They are living with virtual strangers with whom they got stuck for the rest of their lives, and with whom they have to create some sort of functioning marriage while their entire world ogling at their personal lives!_

 _This is the storyline that I chose because it resonated with me, and I like to believe that it resonates, on some level, with my +300 monthly readers. I am proud of the story I am building and I am extremely excited to be sharing it on this amazing platform that allows us all to revisit the wizarding world over and over again._

 _ **RANT ENDS HERE**_

 _I appreciate each and every one of you for reading and joining me on this amazing journey. It has truly been liberating to finally put pen to paper (Oh, you know what I mean!) and get these crazy ideas out and into the universe._

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone_

 _P.S.: THIS CHAPTER GOES OUT TO TWO OF MY AMAZING READERS: PETULANTPAGES (WHO TOTALLY GOT A NEW READER HOOKED) WELCOME TO THE CRAZINESS, NICOLE!_


	25. Losing Sleep

_Song of Choice for Today's Chapter:_

 _Play by iamamiwhoami_

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

Hermione, who had been uncertain as to why they needed a big room to plot her career, soon realized their admittedly large home library might not be enough to fulfill their needs. Draco and Narcissa Malfoy made the thorough planning carried out by the Order of the Phoenix look like vapid small talk. The rows upon rows of books had been shrunken down to fit in a small box that now rested on the fireplace's mantel; their place was taken by several boards, tables, and insane amounts of correspondence between the many members of the Wizengamot and the Malfoys.

"You don't ever do anything halfway, do you?" said Hermione when the grandfather clock in the living room announced it was midnight.

"Absolutely not," said Narcissa as her son negated emphatically with his head.

"No kidding," she said as yet another owl arrived through the permanently open window. Draco went to it, fed it a treat and took the letter. After scanning it with a speed that still shocked Hermione several letters in, he smiled excitedly as he took it to a growing pile.

"Desmond is willing to, not only vote in Hermione's favor, but is also volunteering to second Archibald's motion for a vote on reestablishing the Malfoy seat," he ran to her, took her in his arms, and twirled her in the air.

"Of course he is," Narcissa said from the board nearest the door, adding Desmond Barnaby's vote to the careful tally she was keeping. "Dear old Desmond has been in politics for a very long time and knows that it is important to get on with the future leaders early on in the game."

"Time is of the essence," Draco agreed, "the quicker you get in the good graces of the right people the better; Desmond knows it, we know it and, more importantly, Desmond knows that we know it."

"Support is support, regardless of when we get it," Hermione said earning funny looks from both her husband and his mother, "is it not?"

"If you are among the pioneer supporters of a person, they develop a sense of loyalty toward you. After all, you believed in them when few others would, which ensures down the road the emerging leader will be a fierce supporter of whatever you do." Draco explained as he went to look over the piles of correspondence once more as Narcissa picked up the explanation where her son had left off.

"This kind of loyalty is never extended to those who lend their support after the newbie has partially or totally achieved their goals. Late supporters are seen at best as unimportant trend followers or at worst as self-interested individuals trying to get something out of the newbie."

"Which is why us Malfoys are continuously looking for future leaders to support and promote," Draco said returning to her side with his hands in her pockets; the robes that had covered the bottom up shirt and slacks long gone, much to Narcissa mortification.

"So _that's_ why you are doing all this, huh?" Hermione wrinkled her nose at him.

"No," he smiled down at her, as she was an endearing toddler, "this time around we are doing it because we get to be a completely different beast."

"We are the best kind of supporter, my dear," Narcissa explained as Hermione wondered just how many types of supporters there could be, "we are your clique; the strongest of supporters, and the fiercest of protectors."

"Maybe this will help," Draco said pulling out his wand and drawing in the air, "This dot at the center is the newbie, meaning you. This circle surrounding you is your clique, which is usually composed of old friends and family. In your case, that means the Grangers, the Malfoys, the Potters, the Weasleys and the Longbottoms. We could even add the Zabinis and the Parkinsons now that they have married into the clique." Drawing another circle around the clique's circle he continued, "this is your inner circle, your early supporters; thus far, Archibald Pemberley, Desmond Barnaby, Kingsley Shacklebolt and a couple more are in this circle. The inner circle is small in nature, which is not always necessarily true of the clique."

"Why is Kingsley not in my clique?" she asked confused.

"Because he is too ingrained in politics and that means he has his own interests and agendas," Narcissa said opening yet another new letter, "Zacharias is uncertain, Draco."

"We don't need him," he said dismissively, "We have Eustachio Priwin how has a bigger political clout."

"I think my head is going to explode," she said covering her face with her hands and exerting pressure over her eyes.

"Stay with me, love," he said drawing yet another circle, "This is the outer circle, the trend followers. You don't trust them, but you also don't shun them. They are useful on occasions when you need numbers to back you up. They are also eager to make up for their lack of early support." As he drew another circle Hermione groaned loudly, earning a displeased look from Narcissa.

"Are we going all the way to _this circle is composed by intergalactic travelers_? I don't think I could take it if we are," she was only half joking, but her mother in law seemed to get a composed laugh out of it.

"This circle," Draco continued without pausing, "is the penumbra. Never turn your back, even for a second, on this circle. These are your rivals and enemies, the people who have grudges against you, your clique or your inner circle. They will go out of their way to make your life hell. You should know, at all times, what they are doing and what they will be doing months into the future."

"Fantastic," she threw arms in the air, "since you are in my clique, that means half the wizarding community is in the penumbra."

"The movers and shakers are all still rather friendly with our political pull," he shrugged, "you will soon find that lay people, and their interests, rarely ever matter in politics."

"Must all your assessments be so..." Hermione paused for effect, "…draconian?"

"Hilarious," Draco rolled his eyes with utmost contempt as his mother chortled in an unladylike manner, "see what you have done, Narcissa Black?"

"Back to work you two," said the witch as she tried to compose her features, "we have a few more hours ahead of us." At exactly three in the morning, Narcissa told them to go off to bed.

"You are not going to work all night, are you?" Hermione heard the mild concern in her voice and added it to the list of weird things to ponder.

"No, dear, I need to rest," said the witch as she walked away from her desk and up to where Draco and she had been working. Hermione realized that every single last hair on her mother-in-law's head was perfectly in place still, that not a single wrinkle marred her robes and that she looked exactly as she had when she had shown up for tea. Hermione would be lying if she said it didn't make her absolutely jealous. "I am afraid I have rather a lot to plan for the wedding celebration. Quite a few of the Wizengamot members will be there to celebrate the marriage of their children or grandchildren, it is absolutely crucial in so many ways that the event goes off without a hitch."

"Promise me you will rest, Mother," Draco said kissing both of Narcissa's cheeks.

"Of course, my dragon," she said turning to Hermione and kissed both her cheeks too, "off to bed you go."

"Goodnight, Narcissa," Hermione said as she ushered her to the library's floo. Once the flames had taken the woman away she let her spine relax.

"It's funny how habits persist over time," Draco's voice called from where he stood, "You have always done that strange deflating thing, even during your early Hogwarts days; it makes you look incredibly similar to a punctured balloon."

"And how exactly would you know this?" Hermione said as they walked out of the brand new war room and began walking to the staircase.

"Because I watched you often," he admitted without an ounce of embarrassment as they reached the landing.

"Is this where you tell me you always had a crush on me while we were in school?" she asked teasingly but secretly wanting it to be real.

"Sorry, love, no such luck," he said exhaling a laugh out his nose as he signaled for her to enter their room first, "I'm afraid my blunt disgust and disregard for you were all too real back then." Hermione wanted to inquire how he felt about her now but decided not to ask questions to which she didn't want answers.

"I am absolutely exhausted!" she said as she stretched and dropped on their bed simultaneously. "We are not even out of the planning stage and I already need a holiday."

"That could be arranged," the genuineness in her husband's voice made her twist her neck at a weird angle to look at his face.

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

"I'm completely serious," he said not being able to believe his luck. He didn't even have to coax her into the idea of traveling! He silently thanked whatever deity had managed to pull that off and he continued speaking, "I was actually thinking earlier today that I wanted to take you on a trip."

"A trip?" she asked skeptically, "Are you that desperate to make sure I don't go lurking around the Auror office in hopes of helping the investigations along?" He tried his best to keep his face expressionless at first but then decided his best shot at not infuriating her completely was to joke about it.

"You caught me," he said dramatically as he made a theatrical face of despair.

"Let me guess," she said only partially sullenly, "You have planned a romantic getaway somewhere in France."

"No," he smiled big at her, "you get two more guesses."

"Cliff-diving off the coast of Mexico?" he wasn't sure what that was but he was certain that, if it was anything like what it sounded, he didn't want Hermione anywhere near it.

"You have one more guess," he said going into the bathroom to change into his pajamas as Hermione used the room to do the same.

"Does the Malfoy family have a secluded island somewhere?" she asked.

"Yes, but that's not where we are going. No more guesses, it's officially a surprise destination," he reentered the room to find her in her usual tights and sweater, "would you like a scarf too?" He sassed as he gestured toward the closet, "I believe I have my old Slytherin one somewhere in there."

"I wouldn't need all these layers if you didn't insist on keeping our room at arctic temperatures, you brat," she said as they both got under the sheets.

"This is not cold at all," he said suppressing a yelp as Hermione warmed her frozen feet against him, "imagine spending seven winters sleeping in the dungeons."

"You are snakes, though," she said as she desperately cuddled against his side trying to find warmth, "you _clearly_ don't need warm environments," then she reached under the pillows for her wand but pulled out his by mistake, "bugger." He recalled her apologetic face the first time he stumbled upon her wand hidden among the pillows; she had explained that only with her wand there could she sleep. He hadn't said anything, choosing to instead lift his pillow to reveal his own.

"I don't mind," he said closing his eyes trying to get some shut-eye before dawn or the nightmares that haunted them both could wake him, "I am pretty sure that it will respond without holdup now that we share our magic."

"It's a bit creepy," she said as the room fell into darkness and she returned the wand to its place, "it almost feels like my own." A few minutes passed as they tried to fall asleep. He was almost in Morpheus' arms when Hermione's voice brought him back, "Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"Is this a good time and place to talk about what happened earlier today?" There went whatever sleep he might have gotten tonight.

"I suppose so," he said opening his eyes, "should I sit up?"

"No," she said placing a hand on his chest as she sat herself up. "Draco, I feel the need to explain what my actions."

"What is there to explain?" he tried his best not to, but he ended up sounding cranky either way, "I tried to kiss you and you said no. End of story."

"There's a lot to be said, Draco Malfoy," she harrumphed, "I didn't prevent your kiss to reject you or to slight you, or because I don't like, think you are worthy of it, or whatever idea you might have gotten into that blonde head of yours."

"Is this my queue to ask why you did it?" he interjected at her pregnant pause.

"Must you make it so difficult to talk to you?"

"Must you hurt my pride so?" he nagged right back.

"You are insufferable," she huffed, "the reason why I didn't kiss you is that it scares me, Draco. I haven't the experience you have in this field, that combined with—"

"Explain yourself," he said interrupting her as he sat up, "because that sounded an awful lot like you just admitted to never having done a thing with another, ever."

"I'm not a virgin or anything," she said uncomfortably, "but I also—"

"I take it back, I don't want to know about my wife's adventurous past," he let himself fall back on the bed and forcefully closed his eyes as he tried to not think of that stupid Weasel.

"But I also don't have anywhere near as many conquests as you did while you were at Hogwarts," she said ignoring his childishness. "It's scary to put yourself out there when you don't really want to understand or entertain your feelings; this is especially true when you know you don't have the same level of… prowess… as the other person."

"How much prowess can a single kiss require?"

"Are you being dense on purpose?" she asked exasperated, "Draco you had quite the reputation from early on. Even I heard the gossip, and I rarely engaged in it because I find it stupid. Add that to our tumultuous past" he snorted loudly, "Seriously, Draco! You and I have a lot of history and I do mean _a lot_ of history; about ninety-nine percent of which is bad. Can you truly blame me for not jumping into it blindly?" he refused to speak. "I know you are not the same person you were then, but you did quite a number on my psyche."

"On your what?"

"On my mind, Draco," she explained, "A part of me is terrified of you, of having feelings for you. I see you for the man you are today and I also see you for the man you wish to be in the future, but just like I can see into your future I can see into your past."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he opened his eyes and could make out a few her features in the dark.

"I don't think so," the honesty in her tone was disheartening, "I think that only time and exposure to the new you will help."

His only response was a tired sigh as she went back to cuddling his side. For a long while they laid in silence, neither one asleep.

"Draco?" she whispered softly, speaking into his chest.

"Yes?" when she didn't speak he looked down at where she was hiding to find her blushing so furiously that it was visible in the shadows, "Hermione?"

"Would-you-please-kiss-me?" she spoke so fast that he wondered if she had spoken at all.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't make me ask again," she grumbled embarrassed.

"I just don't want to be hexed for misunderstanding you when you spoke Sanskrit just now."

"Would you, Draco Lucius Malfoy, kiss me, Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy?" she sounded annoyed.

"Ugh," he grimaced, "we need to fix your name if you are going to be running for Minister of Magic."

" _Seriously, Draco?_ "

"As a heart attack," he said turning to look at her, "it's a mouthful." She hit his chest irritated by his antics, causing him to laugh. "Come here, love," getting a hold of her neck, he brought their lips together. At first, it was just a gentle brush but, as the seconds passed, it deepened into a passionate kiss. The electricity that had dulled to a constant hum was back in full swing. By the time they broke apart their room was hit with the first few rays of dawn. Even though he could tell she was thoroughly exhausted, he didn't think she had ever looked so absolutely stunning.

"We really need to get away," she yawned as she rested her head back on his chest.

"We can leave right after the wedding celebration," he whispered as he held her close to his chest. After tonight, he wasn't sure he would be able to resist constantly touching her.

"I guess that's not too bad since it's just a week away," she said slowly drifting off into sleep. "I will survive a week, but not a second more."

"Be it not in me to go against my wife's wishes."

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

 _Dear Readers,_

 _Another chapter has come and gone. I don't usually do two consecutive chapters on the same couple, but I felt like I needed to do so. I reckon my Dramione fans will be doing a happy dance right about now._

 _There has been a truly overwhelming wave of support for this story for the past three (four? It is almost the next day already) days. I am talking hundreds of readers and thousands of viewers. My heart is singing in absolute delight! Holy Molly, I am so lucky to have each and every one of you. Thank you for reading, for your support and for the reviews that make me so absolutely blissful. More chapters are coming soon._

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone._


	26. Compulsive Flattery

_Song of Choice for Today's Chapter:_

 _Crazy by Gnarls Barkley_

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

On the morning she was supposed to meet up with Pansy, Daphne Weasley had woken up absurdly early. She had spent half the morning enjoying the book Ron had left on the living room's coffee table to tempt her into going back to school, and the other half cleaning the house she shared with the caring and overprotective man she called husband these days. She was no stranger to _The Anatomy of Healing_ by Vespertina Prewett, but she hoped the gift might serve more than a single purpose; after all, Molly Weasley was a Prewett by birth. Maybe he was trying to tell her something.

"And maybe the fairies confabulated in the leaving of the book," she chastised herself for always looking for some deep meaning where there probably wasn't any. "Stop trying to make this into some big gesture of family acceptance, Daphne."

She went into the room she shared with Ron and was struck, as she was every other day, by the fact that it looked more like a Hogwarts dormitory than a married couple's room. They had separate beds, nightstands and chests of drawers. It wasn't typical between married couples nowadays, but the arrangement worked for them both like a charm. She still couldn't bear to be touched much, but at the same time she could only sleep through the night if Ron— who prided himself in keeping her nightmares away, and who had no problem jumping from one bed to the other when they did happen— was snoring loudly on the bed next to hers.

She locked the door to the room and warded it before going into the bathroom and repeating the process. She knew it was superfluous since the home had basically been turned into a bunker, a legacy to Ron's endless fretting; but she still did it anyway. Once she was certain the wards were in place she took a deep breath and began undressing quickly, avoiding at all costs her reflection on the mirror. A flick of her wand started the shower and soon the room was full of steam. While her showers had once been longer than a five-course dinner at the Malfoys, she rarely bothered anymore. She furiously massaged the shampoo into her scalp as the hot water turned her skin an angry shade of pink. A quick run with a bar of soap and she was out of the shower, eager to cover her body once more.

After taking down the wards and exiting the bathroom, she went into the bedroom, checked the wards thoroughly and looked into every nook and cranny before relaxing again. Going into the closet she pulled a black pair of trousers and an emerald long sleeve, ignoring the beautiful dresses she no longer felt comfortable wearing. She finished her outfit with a sensible pair of black flats that were ideal if she needed to take off running at a moment's notice. Her long blonde hair was in a severe ponytail that made her angular face— which often went without an ounce of makeup lately— even sharper.

She was about to leave when the floo caught her eye. Choosing not to overthink things, she called him.

"Ronal Weasley speaking," Ron sounded like his mouth was stuffed.

"How are you liking the sandwich?" she asked feeling as her face pulled into a smile.

"Daph! This is actually pretty great, and I don't even like corned beef." After a pause he added, "Is everything okay?"

"I was… Well, it feels silly now, but…" she took a deep breath, "I was about to leave to meet Pansy and I thought I'd let you know."

"Are you nervous? I wasn't planning on taking my lunch hour, but I could escort you over." She wanted nothing more, but she couldn't bring herself to say it.

"No," she assured him, "I'm fine. I just wanted you to know that I am leaving now and that I am meeting her at the new café on Diagon Alley. I shouldn't take longer than a couple of hours; if this changes I will owl you. "

"Are you taking the floo or apparating?" funny how he knew that walking was not even an option.

"Apparating both times," she guaranteed. There was a lull in conversation and then the fire died abruptly. "Ron? What the—" The fire roared back to life, causing her anxiety to go through the roof as she held on to her wand for dear life. As soon as a body was visible she cried "Petrificus totalus!" Ron froze mid-stride, went rigid as a plank, and dropped to the floor with a great thump. "Bollocks!" she said flicking her wand in a finite incantatem, "I'm sorry, Ron, I got scared and acted on instinct."

"If being a healer ends up not being your calling, Daph, you should consider becoming an auror," he said standing up as he rubbed his face as he had fallen face first, "Blimey, woman. I just wanted to make sure you made it safely to the café. I worry otherwise."

"Sorry," she said anxiously yet strangely happy at his admission.

"It's quite alright," he said and then, glancing at her outfit, he added, "You look beautiful, Daph," he winced a bit and then added "but you do know it is like a billion degrees outside, right? You will melt alive wearing that."

"I don't think I will ever wear dresses again," she admitted uncomfortably. He seemed to understand what she meant, and then flicked his wand.

"Cooling charm," he mumbled as he offered her his arm, "I don't want you to die of a heatstroke."

"Thank you," she said holding onto the fabric of his shirt.

"I had ulterior motives," Ron said as they sidelong apparated right outside Genevieve's Café & Pâtisserie, "I am going to be taking some pastries back to the office with me."

"If you'd like I could arrange for your favorites to be delivered to the house every week," she was always so eager to please him that it made her want to wince, but he seemed to appreciate her doting behavior.

"Seriously?" he sounded as if Christmas and his birthday had somehow landed on the same day, "you are the best wife ever."

"So that's the secret?" came Pansy's voice from behind them, "you just buy them food?"

"Pansy!" Daphne shouted excitedly going to hug her old roommate. The statuesque woman seemed taken aback for a second, but then she relaxed and hugged her fiercely.

"Hi Daph," she whispered into her ear softly, and then to Ron, "Hello Weasley."

"Potter or Parkinson?" he asked, "you get to choose."

"Pansy works just fine, actually," she smiled, "thank you for the letter and for lending me your wife for an afternoon."

"It's not a problem," he shrugged awkwardly, "I am going get my pastries and then I will be out of your hair."

"You seemed to be getting along," Pansy observed as he went inside and they took a seat on the lovely patio.

"He treats me like I am some priceless jewel," Daphne admitted looking down at her hands, "It is much more than I have the right to expect, so I feel lucky."

"Daph…" Pansy looked like she wanted to say so much more but couldn't find the words.

"We are not here to talk about me," she shook her head trying to stop her eyes from watering, "what is going on with Harry?"

"As you wish, but I am here for you if you need me," Pansy thankfully never pushed her out of her comfort zone. For whatever reason, her once pug-faced witch had always been a bit maternal toward her.

"Harry, Pansy," she reminded her with a smile, "Tell me about Harry."

"I feel like an errant wife talking about his problems with someone else," Pansy worried at her lip, "but your husband really got me worried with a letter he sent me. Apparently Harry has not been well for a very long time."

"How so?" she wanted to get Pansy's take on the man's behavior and contrast it to the symptoms her husband had mentioned.

"Well, he is extremely melancholic for one. Whenever he thinks I am not looking he seem to drown in his own sorrow. He often startles in the middle of the night, but never shares." Pansy was now looking at her without really seeing her, "The scariest thing for me is his eyes, Daphne. His green eyes look haunted. When I stare into them, they let out silent screams that chill me to the bone."

"That sound positively awful," Daphne wrung her hands anxiously as she wondered what it was the Ron saw in her eyes.

"I asked him what had caused it, I imagine he'd say something like V-Voldemort or the time he died," she paused, "but he didn't. He actually wouldn't tell me a thing about it; and I had a sinking feeling in my gut that he is trying to protect me somehow."

"What do you mean?"

"I think I might have…" she stopped when she saw Ron leave the store, wave his goodbyes and disapparate back to work.

"You were saying, Pansy?" she prompted.

"I think It was me," she said as if she was whispering the nastiest secret, "I think I broke him that day I tried to sell him off to the Dark Lord." Neither one spoke for a very long time as then let the words settle in the air. "Merlin, Daph, if I did this to him…"

"Even if all this started that day, you are not responsible for this, Pansy. What you are describing, what Ron explained the other day, those things are not caused by a single event. They are caused by a collection of events and not taking the time to cope or heal." When her friend ignored her she spoke again, "You were just a child and you were terrified, Pansy."

"So was he!" she cried exasperated, rubbing at her eyes furiously, "I tried to… and then he saved us, saved me… he continues to save me, Daph."

"Then it's your time to save him in return," she spoke simply, "I am afraid that there is no spell, no spell that wouldn't end in disaster or terrible insult, that is, that can make him suddenly trust you with all his darkest secrets. You are just going to have to earn that trust, one day at a time."

"I am scared he won't be able to take it much longer, Daph," her whisper barely audible.

"You think he is a suicide risk?" Daphne asked shocked.

"I don't know" Pansy admitted, "I hope not, but I can't be certain."

"There's people at St. Mungo's that can help," at Pansy's look she try something else, "just be there for him, Pansy. Maybe try opening up yourself to him, maybe that will help him open up."

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

"I know you hate talking about yourself, Pansy, but…" they both sported matching grimaces. "I wish I could say more, do more…"

"Thank you for meeting with me, Daph," Pansy said out of the blue, "I don't really deserve it, but you still came."

"Why wouldn't you deserve it?" she asked confused.

"I wasn't there for you when you needed me," the witch hung her head in shame.

"I wouldn't have let you in then, Pansy," she admitted, "I am not ready now, even."

"You know you can always owl me or floo me or simply apparate into my home, right?"

"Yes, Pansy," she smiled at the witch.

"Those Gryffindors might take all the glory for taking care of their own, but it is in Slytherin that you make your real friends," she said with pride. "We might have graduated, but that is still true today."

"I love you too, Pansy," Pansy reached over the table and awkwardly held on to her friend, "even if you are becoming a bit of Hufflepuff."

"Daphne Greengrass or Weasley or whatever you want to call yourself, I am not above hexing you!" Pansy threatened truly cross.

An hour later, having eaten more pastries than either one could take and far too many to be socially acceptable, Daphne sidelong apparated them to her house with Ron. She tried seeing it through her friend's eyes and was quick to defend it.

"It's not exactly Greengrass Manor, I know—"

"I think it is perfect," Pansy said looking around, "I might move some stuff around if this was a job, but I think this house is much more like you than that giant house ever was."

"Thanks," she said warding the place heavily.

"Daphne, I want to share something with you," she said making herself at home on the couch.

"Merlin, this sounds like heaving stuff," he magically poured two cups of chamomile tea.

"It is, but I want to tell you about it."

After Pansy had told Daphne about the attack she had survived the day before her wedding, they both held on to each other and sobbed loudly. Daphne didn't share her own horrors, but she didn't need to do so. She knew Pansy sympathized, even if she could never truly empathize with her. Truth be told, Daphne would never want for her, or anyone else, to be able truly understand her sorrows.

"Good Lord," said Pansy jumping to her feet and fussing over the make up that have been upset by happy and sad tears throughout her visit, "would you look at the time. I need to go home, Harry should be arriving soon. Are you going to be okay alone until Ron gets here?"

"I have good company," she gestured at the anatomy book.

"You should really go back to school," Pansy said for the millionth time after having heard that Daphne no longer was pursuing her lifelong dream.

"You should really go home to your husband," she said as she pushed her into the floo gently.

"When am I going to see you again?" Pansy asked scooping the powder with her hand, "Are you going to that wedding celebration?"

"Ron didn't look very convinced, but I will bring it up."

"Okay, good. Owl me," and then she was alone again.

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

When Ron got home he was thoroughly knackered. He had gone over every single piece of evidence, the meeting logs and every report on Daphne's case and he still was not any closer to figuring out who the culprits were. The highlight of his otherwise awful day had been seeing his wife during his lunch hour. To date he wasn't sure what had compelled him to marry her so suddenly back in Kingsley's office what felt like a lifetime ago, but bloody hell was he glad he'd gone through with it.

"Ron?" he voice was tinged with that tense anxiety that never quite left her.

"Hullo Daph!" he called shaking the leftover dust from the floo, "I am going to take a quick shower and then I'll meet you in the kitchen."

"Take your time, dinner is going to take a bit I'm afraid," her head popped out of the kitchen suddenly, and the sight of the floating head was so funny that he laughed. "What's so funny?"

"You look like you have Harry's Invisibility Cloak on," he smiled, "Although your floating head is quite gorgeous, Harry's isn't." What in the world? Where were these words coming from? She flushed and averted her gaze. Bloody hell, could he be any more of an arse? His poor wife could barely stand to be in public and here he was basically harassing her. "Uh, so, yes, off to the shower." Once he was far enough that she wouldn't be able to hear him, he muttered "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

After spending every minute of his shower wondering how he ought to apologize to Daphne for being so daft, he put on pajamas and went down to the kitchen making sure to be loud enough to announce his presence so as to avoid her getting startled. He started whistling when he was about to enter the kitchen.

"You seem happy. Good day at work?" she smiled from the stove.

"Terrible day," he admitted, "but coming home to you makes me happy." By Merlin's dead father, what was wrong with him today? Had the damned pastries been lazed with some demented version of veritaserum? "I'm sorry, Daph," he apologized profusely as she flushed and looked interestedly at the ceiling, "I don't understand why I can't seem to stop flirting with you."

"It's okay, Ron," her voice sounded two octaves too high.

"I guess I am not used to being around someone so beautiful— GODRIC, WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?" he was starting to freak out when he heard it. It was such a happy sound, just pure unaltered joy. Daphne's laughter was a perfect as a cloudless blue sky. He laughed too, as he considered going to St. Mungo's in his pajamas to request one of those funny jackets the non-magical people use on their crazy in the movies.

"It's fine Ron," she said laughing a bit as his face contorted at his idiocy, "I am flattered."

"I swear I am not normally a creepy husband," the oath was a bit ridiculous since the only experiences he'd had as a husband were all with her. Blimey, he hoped he wasn't one of those handsy creeps that felt up their wives in public.

"Ron, it's fine," she laughed again, "really."

"Pretty and forgiving," he mused, "WHAT—"

"Ron!" she shouted laughing and going to him. As if it was an every day occurrence she entwined her fingers with his, "Stop losing your mind, you goof. It's nice to hear that someone still finds me pretty despite… you know."

"You are the absolute, most gorgeous witch I have ever met," for the first time that night he meant to speak the compliment he was saying, "I will gladly take it upon myself to remind you every day, if you so wish."

"Silly man," she said standing on her tiptoes to peck his cheek, "come on and let's get you fed before you start singing sonnets about my beauty."

"Cheeky witch," he mumbled goodheartedly as they settled for dinner. Later that night, when Daphne was softly snoring seemingly enjoying her dreams for once, Ron laid awake trying to figure out what exactly was his witch doing to him.

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 _Dear Readers,_

 _Happy 20 years of Harry Potter to each and every one of you!_

 _I am so blessed to share this amazing world with you. I wrote this chapter with all the love in my heart and the slowly developing carpal tunnel that this story is show to cause, hahaha. I hope you loved it and that you want to tell me how you feel about it because I want to do justice to the characters, yes, but I also want to know if I meet your expectations._

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone_


	27. Elfin Gossip and Ethereal Beauties

_Song of Choice for Today's Chapter:_

 _The Fear by Lilly Allen_

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Pansy felt herself groan loudly when the blasted clock Harry kept on his side of the room started beeping uncontrollably. She had told him countless times to use his wand as an alarm like a normal wizard, but the man insisted he would sleep through anything that wasn't that pesky clock. She couldn't fault his logic, either, since even the neighbors now woke up to the irksome sound.

"Harold, wake up," she searched the bed to push him off it, as she did most mornings, but found nothing other than cold sheets. "Harry?" her voice sounded exhausted and strained, unsurprising since it was barely six in the morning. When she didn't get an answer she opened her eyes to find the room empty and the door to the unoccupied bathroom ajar. The only trace of her husband ever being in the room was a note on her nightstand.

 _Pans,_

 _There was another attack. Had to run. Might be gone for a couple of days. Will try to owl._

 _Harold_

"Great, and on the one free day I have to confront him," she said with another groan as she dropped the letter and stretched her spine. With a pained sigh, she readied herself to start the day knowing it was impossible for her to go back to bed once she was awake. "Wait a second," she picked up the note again and, looking past the hideous chicken scratch Harry called lettering and counted the days until the wedding celebration. He would be back in time, thank heavens. The last thing she wanted was for her aunt Narcissa to grow cross with her. "And on that note," she said to herself, "I have to write to Madam Malkin to ensure this charming moron has something to wear."

A quick flick of her wand brought out her personalized stationery, a quill, and her signature purple ink to be laid on the desk that rested in the far corner of the room. She charmed the quill to start writing her missive for her as she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Once she had flossed, washed her face and combed through her hair she went over to the desk. After reading the letter to make sure it was up to her high standards, she signed it with a flourish and called on her owl.

"Hello Mercury," she said caressing the northern white-faced owl once it perched on her window, "could you please take this to Madam Malkin, and wait for her response?" The owl cawed softly as it agreed to her request and took off. She dejectedly looked around the room, realizing just how strange it felt to be alone in the big flat once again.

"Meep?" her soft call was followed closely by a crack as an elf apparated before her.

"Mistress called Meep?" the elf sounded so excited to be called on that Pansy automatically felt awful for not reaching out more often.

"Hi Meep," said the witch coming down to eye level with the elf, "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind making me some breakfast?" Pansy could cook her own breakfast just fine, thank you very much, but the truth was that she hated to eat by herself. The elf's knowing smile told her she knew it too.

"Meep would love to cook for Mistress," she said excitedly reaching out for Pansy's hand to apparate them to the kitchen. Once there, the elf got to work on a vegetable omelet as she charmed a knife to begin cutting a watermelon into pieces so that she could have fresh juice.

"I'm sorry I haven't come by the manor, Meep," Pansy said as she walked over to stand next to the elf, "I know you must get lonely over there."

"Meep is happy at the manor, Mistress," she said as she perfectly cracked eggs against the countertop. "Meep helps over at Grimmauld Place, Mistress. Meep is not alone and when Meep is bored Meep visits Meep's friends."

"Really?" Pansy said amused, "I hope you and Kip are not wreaking too much havoc." The elf actually laughed and didn't let on as to what she and her old friend got up to, as usual. "How are things at the worksite? Is Kreacher collaborating?" Meep made an indignant sound that sent Pansy into a surprised laugh.

"Crazy old elf," Meep muttered, "Kreacher is upset with Meep."

"What do you mean?" Unlike many in her circles, Pansy actually knew the importance of elfin gossip, which meant she made it her business to know important private details about her elf's friends and, of course, the families which they served.

"Meep is helping over at Grimmauld Place, as Mistress requested," the elf said as she upended the bowl containing the eggs and chopped veggies on an oiled pan, the delicious smells of her childhood filtering through the air, "Mistress' employees couldn't remove the screaming painting off the wall, and when Meep helped Kreacher angered."

"Are you telling me that the awful portrait is off the wall?" Pansy asked excitedly and clapped her hands when the elf nodded. "How did you manage to unstick it?"

"Meep didn't, Mistress," the elf held onto the pan with both hands and flipped the omelet in the air, "Meep drained the painting off the canvas, Mistress."

"Of course!" Pansy shouted as she felt dumb for not thinking of the solution herself, "The canvas was stuck onto the wall, not the actual paint. You, Meep, are one brilliant elf!"

"Thank you, Mistress," the elf said with a bit of a blush. "I also changed the frame of the canvas to better go with the colors Mistress chose."

"Meep, I truly don't say this often enough, but I absolutely adore you." The witch's words couldn't be more truthful, either. When Pansy's mother had died giving birth to her, her father had basically vanished her to her own wing of the manor and left her to be raised by the house elves with the help of her mother's best friend, Narcissa Malfoy.

"Meep adores Mistress too," the elf whispered, scared that she was overstepping. "Mistress should eat now," she snapped her fingers and suddenly the table was set, and her omelet and juice were ready to be enjoyed.

"Have you eaten yet, Meep?" Pansy said as she took a seat, faintly aware that she was still in her silk pajama shorts and top.

"Meep ate syrupy pancakes at the manor Mistress," the elf said as she rubbed her belly.

"Syrupy pancakes are the best type of pancakes," Pansy nodded approvingly, "care to sit? Or would you prefer to go on about your day?"

"Meep would like to sit with Mistress," the elf admitted, "but if Mistress needs Meep to clean, Meep could—"

"Nonsense," Pansy patted her seat next to her, "we both know I hate being alone."

The rest of her breakfast was spent listening to Meep share the juiciest of details regarding the other solely magically inclined families. Ginevra Zabini, who had changed her name back and forth, was relentlessly getting on Kip's nerves with her poor manners, Merlin help her. Tally was starting to think that Luna Nott was terribly sick since only she could see strange creatures of which Tally had never even heard. Nym had informed Meep that Draco and his new wife were getting along better since they had started working on something Nym wasn't permitted to see; and Piff was concerned because he was no longer allowed to simply apparate to his Mistress Daphne's side, instead he had to send notice ahead.

"Meep," Pansy said after she finished her food, "would you please meet with Piff and together go over to Daphne's new place? I would like to have her come over here for the afternoon. She spends too much time alone."

"Piff will be so happy to see his Mistress," Meep admitted to Pansy, "Piff is very worried for Mistress Daphne."

"So am I, Meep," she admitted, "Make sure to tell Daphne that a seamstress is coming in from Paris to measure me for robes for the wedding celebration; and that if she wishes to join in on it, she is more than welcome to do so."

"Yes, Mistress," nodded the elf before disapparating. With the flat empty once again she decided to go change into something a bit more practical than pajamas. Going into her closet she reached for some sports gear and, after dressing, she went out onto the street for a run.

As she ran through the streets of London at a steady pace, a myriad of thoughts ran through her mind. She needed to go to Grimmauld Place to oversee how the project was coming along and to decide what would be an appropriate painting to fill in the spot left behind by Walburga's blessed takedown. The burning in her calves and in her lungs told her she was pushing herself a bit too harshly, so she relented in her pace just so, allowing her breathing to ease but not to grow comfortable.

Maybe she could try and find an artist that could finish a portrait of Harry's parents in the days that her husband would be away. That would be nice, right? A peace offering of sorts that he could cherish. She allowed herself a small smile as she glanced right and left, looking for oncoming traffic given that she was at one of the more transited crossings. When she was certain she wasn't going to get run over by those blasted machines non-magical people loved so much, she resumed her running and her thinking. She needed to go over the financials for her business and had to check in with the non-magically inclined client that was interested in remodeling a Victorian Hotel near Trafalgar Square. Successfully landing that account would mean not only a significant influx of money for her but also getting in with the most exclusive non-magical clientele.

The hair that she had put up in a high ponytail earlier was now starting to escape de tie and sticking to her face and neck is that skin-crawling way she hated. Flipping her hand at it, she made a mental note to call her hairdresser and makeup artist to ensure they would be able to help her, and maybe even help Daphne, get ready on the day of the celebration.

"The celebration," she gasped exhausted as she continued to push herself, ignoring the burning in her chest that had previously caused her to slow down. She had to attend the celebration; there was simply no avoiding it. Not for her or for Blaise's wife. Good Lord, Blaise's wife. How was she going to deal with that when she couldn't even get her husband to share his problems with her? She needed to figure out, and soon. The homemade meal had been a waste, so maybe she should try out Daphne's advise about 'open up' to her husband. "Marriage is exhausting!" she cried out breathlessly in desperation as she began to run back to the flat.

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After a significant struggle with the flat's door— she couldn't use her wand in public— Pansy managed to enter her home just in time to open the window for Mercury to fly in. The owl perched itself on her outstretched arm and offered its talon in her direction so that Pansy could untie the small parchment from it.

"Thank you, Mercury," she cooed softly as she brought the animal close to her face to both awkwardly and lovingly snuggle it with her cheek. "You can go rest now." The bird cawed cheerfully at being able to rest its tired wings and flew out of sight while its owner stepped out of the running shoes that were too constricting now that her run was over. Without much ceremony, Pansy sat on the nearest couch with a small cringe as a fleeting thought reminded her she was disgustingly sweaty and now sitting on her very expensive furniture. "Whatever, it's not like I am going to sit here all day," she explained herself to the empty room as she opened parchment to find Madam Malkin's stylish handwriting.

 _Dear Pansy,_

 _First, allow me to extend to you my most sincere congratulations on your recent nuptials. I was so positively excited to read of your match to our dear Mr. Potter on the Prophet. I wish you both the very best as you embark on this journey. I must admit I was most excited when I first caught sight of your stunning owl this morning. I was wondering when I would be getting a service request from either you or your husband since the celebration is creeping exponentially closer, sewing-wise, with each passing hour. I do not feel the need to explain why delivering the kind of robes Mr. Potter deserves would mean to work well into the night, for several nights, had your cordial request not reached my desk before noon today. As for your many apologies, they are neither needed nor welcome, my dear. Both you and Mr. Potter are dear and near to my heart, and I would never leave him to scramble and find subpar robes to wear. I promise you the most enchanting of robes for your wonderful husband. I understand he cannot be fitted at the moment, which is why I will be delivering them myself the day before the ceremony in case alterations are in order. I do hope to see you at the store sometime soon since it has been absolutely too long since the last time we had tea._

 _Congratulations once more,_

 _Madam M._

"Merlin bless her," Pansy sighed relieved as she forced herself to stand on her aching and wobbly legs. Setting the letter aside, she made a mental note to schedule in some shopping at Madam Malkin's as she pulled out her wand to scourgify the offending droplets of sweat that now decorated the white leather surface of the couch, "Disgusting."

Picking up her trainers by the laces, she made her way up the stairs and into the room she shared with Harry. As soon as she was in the room she levitated her shoes into their rightful place on the bottommost shoe-shelf in her closet. She then flicked her wand over her body, magically pealing away the many layers of dank clothing that nauseatingly stuck to her skin.

"Polyester might be the vilest thing to ever plague this earth," she mumbled to herself as she rapidly crossed the room to make her way into the spacious bathroom. A flick of her wand started the shower as she pulled a tie out of her hair as gently as humanly possible. "Bloody… ugh!" she cried annoyed at herself as she somehow managed to brutally pull at her strands despite her careful ministrations.

Stepping into the admittedly enormous white paradise of a shower that had been one of her main motivators to get the flat, she tested the waters with her elbow the way Meep had always done when she was younger. Letting out a satisfied sigh, Pansy walked into the shower through the massive glass door. She had managed to achieve that almost impossible temperature that allowed her sore muscles to find solace without subjecting her skin to the damaging treatment of scalding water.

Pansy allowed all her thoughts about clients, elves, and even thoughts of her troubled friend— which seemed to be ever-present these days— to take a leave from her mind as she twisted her neck at odd angles just so that it would let out that satisfying crack that brought a sense of serenity to her soul. Letting the sweet droplets permeate into her luscious hair, she reached for the loofa she had purchased only a few days prior in a small bath and body boutique in non-magical London and drenched it in the cleansing potion she used as a shower gel.

She took her sweet time massaging the potion into her neck and arms, moving slowly but deliberately as she reached her chest. Pansy was not exactly surprised to find her breast sensitive to the touch, after all, it had been a bit too long since she had scratched the itch and sleeping next to another warm body did things to her, even if that body belong to the very complicated man she called husband due to a very awkward and complex reality.

She banished her damning thoughts from her mind, trying to regain interest in her own pleasure as she began lightly brushing the loofah over her still perky breasts. She let out a soft moan as the usual array of thoughts of handsome, and somehow faceless, men drifted through her mind. She allowed herself to linger there, enjoying the tortuous friction that began turning her breaths into barely audible whimpers. When she could no longer stand the friction she moved on to the tired muscles that ran the lengths of her legs, not feeling the need to rush her ministrations to her overexerted limbs.

Not long after, she was at the apex of her thighs, letting her mind drifts further into her daydream, allowing herself to be consumed by the sensation. However, before she could find her release or further delve into her imaginative musings, she saw the features of her faceless lover change, his eyes turning a familiar shade of emerald. The shock was such, that Pansy felt her eyes fly open painfully fast as she threw the loofah on the floor with force as if it was somehow responsible for the turn of events.

"Good Lord, Pansy," she snapped angrily at herself, "What the fuck are you even doing thinking about…" she refused to give voice to her disturbing fantasy or further analyze it, "No more fun for you now," she continued to chastise herself and, with her business-only face on, she proceeded to finish her shower.

Once she was done, she stepped out of the shower and quickly threw her soft and fluffy robe on. "As for you," she exclaimed reaching back into the Italian marble masterpiece and grabbing the offending loofa, "you are no longer welcome here," and with a litany of expletives that would have sent any society woman into an early grave, she dropped it in the disposal bin.

It was two in the afternoon when Daphne, accompanied by a worried-looking Piff and an excited Meep, apparated into her living room. The witch looked uncertain at first, but once her jeweled-tone eyes landed on her childhood roommate she allowed a small smile to grace her aristocratic face.

"My, oh my," Daphne said with mirth in her voice, "are my eyes deceiving me or is my dear Pansy wearing home clothes?"

"Home clothes?" Pansy questioned both confused and entertained by her friend's teasing. It was surprising just how comfortable Daphne seemed to be around her after their coffee and numerous owls and floo calls.

"You know, home clothes," Daphne shrugged with one shoulder, "the kind that you wear in the privacy of your home but would not be caught dead in while in public. I guess that means I am no longer part of the general public."

"Listen, you witch," Pansy snapped good-heartedly, "I'll have you know I paid a pretty Knut for these jeans!"

"What would Narcissa say," Daphne said disapprovingly as she strained her features in a hauntingly similar manner as the elder witch.

"What—" Pansy exclaimed outraged, "They are designer!"

"Whatever you have to say to yourself so you can sleep at night, Pansy," mused the primly dressed witch as she graciously let herself fall onto the couch.

"You know there's a word…" Pansy teased back, "It rhymes with witch."

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"Pansy Patrice, once Parkinson, now Potter," she said amusingly shocked, "do you kiss your husband with that naughty mouth?" The humor left Pansy's face quickly as a strong blush and wide eyes overtook it. "Oh dear me," Daphne said enjoying the moment too much, "you have! You kissed him! Was it after you had that soul-baring conversation I recommended?"

"What, huh, no," said the other witch pulling her white shall-cardigan hybrid closed over her chest, "Nothing of the sort."

"So you haven't had the talk yet?" Daphne pushed.

"Meep, Piff, why don't you both take the day for yourselves," Pansy said extending an order in the shape of an offer. Daphne cringed a bit at having forgotten that the two were not truly alone.

"Yes, Mistress," said Meep quickly as she took a hold of her own elf's arm and started pulling him in the direction of what she assumed was the immense flat's kitchen. Piff, however, didn't seem to want to obey and dug his heels into the floor.

"Meep can go, but Piff is not leaving Mistress Daphne's side," he said stubbornly.

"Piff don't fight Meep," the female elf grunted as she fruitlessly pulled on her friend, "Mistresses want privacy!"

"Piff is not going Meep!" the elf said shaking the Parkinson elf off and running to stand next to his mistress.

"Piff," Daphne called softly after her child-size guardian, "Meep is right, I do want to spend some time alone with Pansy. Besides, you would be bored with all the frilly and feminine fabrics and talk once the seamstress gets here."

"But Piff must protect Mistress Daphne," he said looking conflicted "Piff promised Master and Mistress Greengrass!"

"I am perfectly safe here," Daphne could hear her own uncertainty and hoped her friend wouldn't take offense, "Pansy can take over for a little while, besides," she added without knowing whether she was lying to her elf, "Harry Potter himself lives in this home and has control over the wards."

"Harry Potter?" asked Piff in absolute marvel.

"Yes," Daphne said patting her elf's shoulder, "Pansy and Harry are married now." Piff turned to look at Pansy with shock and wonderment as if she had become some sort of deity. "Do you trust Harry Potter, Piff?"

"Meep can take Piff with her now," Piff said instead of answering her question, "Will Mistress Daphne call Piff if she needs help?"

"Of course she will, Piff," Pansy said softly pushing him in the direction of her own elf, "Meep will you be needing some galleons?"

"No, mistress!" Meep called happily as she walked away, "Meep won some off of Nym."

"She won some off— What?" asked Daphne entertained by the exchange.

"Meep is quite cunning," Pansy explained going back to sitting across from her friend on the couch, "she makes bets with the other elves when she knows her victory is assured, usually via gossip or insider information."

"I see where your shrewd ways come from," Daphne teased.

"You don't even know most of it," Pansy said mischievously but then dropped the childishness and her face became serious, "How have you been doing since the last time we talked?"

Daphne felt her features sober up quickly as she considered her friend's well-meaning question. There were so many ways to answer Pansy's question and she wasn't exactly sure which one to pick. She could tell her about how her relationship with Ron made her feel infinitesimally less fearful, how her own shadow had begun frightening her a tiny bit less some days. Or, maybe, she could share the fact that, while the days were a slightly better, the nights still were terror-filled. Her nightmares never truly left her and that was a reality that Daphne was slowly beginning to accept, even if she did so with a heavy heart. She could even tell Pansy about the strange panic attacks that plagued her at the oddest moments and without seemingly any reason or how it was torture when people would even brush past her.

"Daphne?"

"It's going," she shrugged, her gaze still lost in her private musings, "sometimes well, others not so well."

"If you ever need to talk about it…" Pansy never did finish her offers of support, leaving it up to her to decide and Daphne was secretly glad. She already shared the few words she could actually utter on the subject with her meddling husband and her worry-ridden sister. If she had to add Pansy, dear as she might be, to the list of people that needed somewhat constant updates on her progress, or lack thereof, she might find a way to avada herself.

"Can we talk about something else?" she asked tiredly, "Anything else?"

"Are you excited about the wedding celebration?" Pansy asked after a pause and a nod, "I am not quite sure how I feel about it, honestly."

"Me neither, but I am more interested in the reasons for your doubts," she admitted as she shifted in her seat, greedy for the bits of normalcy that flooded her life when she got to gossip or talk nonsense with her old roommate.

"I'm afraid you are quite right you say 'reasons'," she said accentuating the 's' at the end of the word. Pansy's sigh was admittedly dejected, carrying the weight of whatever was bothering her. "I still cannot decide if attending this event is wise in the least."

"You cannot miss it!" Daphne rushed to remind her friend, "All kidding and laughs aside, Narcissa Malfoy will avada you without a second glance if you miss this event; and if she doesn't, my grandmother will never let me hear the end of it. She doesn't even like you to begin with!"

"Is she ever going to let that go?" Pansy growled annoyed beyond belief, "I was five years old when it happened!"

"Pansy, you sent her flying down a long flight of stairs," she defended her grandmother, "with such force and speed, I might add, that she didn't even have a chance to cast a cushioning spell."

"I. Was. Five." Pansy punctuated each word as if that would somehow cause her grandmother's resentment to disappear.

"Four. Broken. Ribs." Countered Daphne amused when her friend rolled her eyes in a rather manly way.

"Bethany Greengrass is a hard arse," mumbled Pansy causing her to giggle, "but she is the least of my concerns, actually."

"Pray tell, what is concern-worthy, if not my grandmother's undying disdain for you?"

"Not going is out of the question, of course," Pansy sighed, "which means that I have to attend this social function with Harry."

"Is he being difficult about it?" Daphne asked concerned, "when people are depressed, they often seek to alienate themselves from friends and family, let's not even talk about society as a whole."

"I honestly don't think he is so much depressed as he is tired of carrying around a heavy burden which he refuses to share," Pansy huffed, "but no, Harry is not the problem. He was willing enough to go, he understands societal dynamics. I would just like to avoid ever coming face to face with his ex, which will be unavoidable at this event. As much as the families have hated the Weasleys throughout history for their peculiar choices, the tables have turned and they are still purebloods."

"Solely magically inclined," Daphne corrected.

"Yes, yes, what you said," she batted her hand in the air as if sending away a pestering fly, "point is, we all know Harry and I didn't exactly marry for love."

"Why did you two end up marrying?" Daphne asked curiously, "I was there when it happened, he could have waited to be matched to her."

"He has his reasons," Daphne waited, but it became obvious Pansy wasn't going to elaborate.

"Fine, don't tell me, but continue on with your worries," she urged.

"I am not a coward but I was also not in Gryffindor for a reason," she reasoned, "I am in no way, shape or form, looking forward to coming face to face with that witch. She might have ended up 'soul matching' Zabini—"

"I know!" Daphne cut her off, "How was that even possible? They shouldn't have been able to link up, or whatever it was the rest did."

"I don't know," Pansy shrugged without much interest, "but from what I read in the papers she was pretty gutted about the match."

"Oh, yes," Daphne confirmed, "her cries made her sound like an injured animal."

"Thank you for that," Pansy said narrowing her eyes, "I so needed to know I am responsible for her suffering."

"Do you care if you are?" Daphne questioned, "You aren't, the Ministry is; but if you were, would you care?"

"I don't really know her, so whatever concern I feel is that of a distant acquaintance. Harry, however, I do know. I lay awake at night, next to this man who is both my husband but also not mine to claim, dreading the day him and his ex eventually would come face to face and have to deal with being married to virtual strangers when their sweetheart is just a touch away."

"Concern," Daphne labeled the feelings. "You sure spend a lot of your time concerned over your husband these days."

"I live with the man and he did save us all from a terribly dystopian reality, did he not?" she shrugged.

"You could argue that Draco's wife and my own husband did too, but I don't see you losing sleep over their issues."

"Do not give me that 'knowing' smile," Pansy rolled her eyes annoyed by whatever she found on Daphne's features, "I simply want to get along with the man. I feel like I owe him, and I still have that guilt from our Hogwarts days clogging up my throat. The least I can do is to try and make this… arrangement… work smoothly."

"If you say so," she taunted her again.

"I do." Pansy snapped stubbornly. Needlessly so, since Daphne knew Pansy didn't really have feelings for the man she came home to every night, at least not the kind Daphne had suggested to annoy her. As far as Daphne could see— and she knew Pansy better than almost anyone, the exception being Draco— Pansy just felt a lot of guilt and the need to make it up to Harry for the situation they were both in. The witch wanted to somehow repay him for the endless kindness that he seemed to constantly channel her way. "If anything—" Daphne wasn't sure what was going to come out of her friend's mouth, and she would never find out either. At that moment the floo roared to life, green fire licking away at a figure that was both fabulous and intimidating.

" _Bonjour_!" called a majestic veela that Daphne recognized as one of her mother's favorite designers.

"Hello Aline," Pansy said going to greet the newcomer with open arms and a kiss on each of her cheeks, "you look absolutely amazing."

"Oh my dear Pansy," Aline Megève said in her heavily accented English as she took the witch in, "I wish I could say the same. What are you wearing, my darling?" the witch cried in despair as Daphne laughed herself hoarse.

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"Do we really have to go to this stupid thing?" Ginny asked trying to pry Hermione's hand away from her now bruised arm, "Our weddings have come and gone! What is the point of celebrating them now?"

"Yes, we really have to go," her tone was the same no-nonsense one that Molly Weasley often used on her unruly bunch of children when they were worrying away at her patience, "I told you, I have to be there and I cannot do it without you!"

"Would you please let go of my arm?" Ginny said pulling away from her tight hold, "I will have to retire from the Harpies if you keep destroying my arm with you vicious grip, woman."

"As if you would ever consider retiring," Hermione laughed as she gave her best friend her arm back, "now get on that damn floo or I swear to whatever god is looking down at us that I will send Narcissa to get you."

"Must you be so evil?" said the redhead as she hurried in the direction of the floo; once she stood in it, Hermione joined her, "Where are we going to shop for clothes anyway?"

"Oh, we aren't, Narcissa has arranged everything for us back at my house," she admitted and rushed to drop the floo powder before her friend dove off the hearth, "Draco Malfoy's office."

"You treacherous, little witch I will—" Ginny's cursing streak was cut short by the polite clearing of someone's throat; that someone turned out to be Hermione's unlikely ally and mother-in-law, Narcissa Malfoy.

"I do hope this is not how the two of you choose to communicate in a daily basis," the witch amusement was at odds with her words.

"I do not care what you hope for," Ginny's soft mutter was closely followed by her best friend's elbow colliding with the redhead's ribcage.

"Not subtle, my dears," Narcissa, mysterious and contradictory as ever, sounded both entertained and displeased, "might I suggest more clever exchanges in the future?"

"Apologies, Narcissa," said Hermione as Ginny snorted loudly.

"Specially you, Ms. Zabini," Narcissa said not unkindly, "I happen to know Bellissa is not as forgiving as I am."

"You are supposed to be forgiving?" Hermione voiced the thoughts of both young witches, "I'm sorry Narcissa but I cannot think of a universe in which there is someone that is less forgiving than you."

Hermione was aware of her redhead friend's eyes as they widened comically and shifted back and forth between mother and daughter in law. Narcissa didn't say anything at first, but then a smirk— which was so small that it might cause most people to think they imagined it— dawned on the witch's face as Ginny got a hold of the wand resting in the back pocket of her trendy slacks.

"Piss off, dearest," Narcissa said sweetly as Ginny's jaw unhinged completely and nearly hit the ground. "Follow me, please, we need to do this quickly and smoothly. The team is already outside and waiting for the two of you."

"I can hear you questioning it in your mind," Hermione said amused by the blatant distrust in her friend's face, "don't even bother."

"Are you really trying to tell me you blindly trust her now?" Ginny said inspecting her friend closely.

"I don't know if I trust her blindly," Hermione admitted, "but I trust Narcissa to care for her best interest always. She is trying to revamp the image of a pretty disgraceful community while simultaneously doing the same for her family. She needs me to look absolutely perfect and fitting. A bride worthy of her precious son, someone who fits seamlessly into the once perfect little family. Someone who makes the Malfoy name, and the community as a whole, much better just by simply being linked to it."

"That is so…"

"Clever?" called Narcissa from a few steps ahead, her silver robes waiving against a nonexistent breeze in the same glamorous way her son's had done while at Hogwarts.

"Sleazy, actually," the brown-eyed witch barked slightly disgusted.

"It is just the way politics work," Hermione explained.

"Since when is politics an appropriate or noble way to go about your familial ties?" Ginny sounded like she wanted to shake her best friend roughly, "The Hermione I know would be disgusted by that comment."

"I know you are right," Hermione admitted, "and I am not completely comfortable accepting the realities that come with the Malfoy name, but there is just so much uncertainty in our lives these days that I will take whatever assurance I can find, even if it is a sleazy take on how they deal with others in this family. I am not compromising my morals, I am just trying to adapt to my new surroundings. Hopefully, with time, I can change the family narrative."

"You will have to simply forgive her for holding onto practicality as she tries to tread new and daunting waters, Ms. Zabini," Narcissa said as they reached a group of stoic looking people in black robes. Had their faces not been so blasé and their robes so fashionable, both of the young witches would have thought death eaters were ambushing them. "Christian, darling, this is my daughter-in-law, Hermione, and her best friend, Ginevra Zabini."

"Any connection to Bellissa Zabini?" questioned the raven-haired man as his features became animated while he was kissing both of Hermione's cheeks.

"She is my husband's mother," said Ginny as she prepared herself to be kissed in the same, admittedly obnoxious, manner.

"Oh dear, how very unfortunate," said the wizard holding on to Ginny's shoulders with care, "I am so sorry."

"Behave, Christian," called Narcissa as she tried and failed to control the smirk on her face. Ginny, however, seemed to need further elaboration.

"Is she difficult?" Hermione had never seen Ginny look so uncomfortable about the prospect of meeting someone. "I haven't met her yet, and all I know of her is that she is crazy about proper manners and drinks incredibly expensive tea."

"Then you should add to the list that she is absolutely irreverent and that she thinks herself better than everyone," and then turning to Narcissa, who was readying to interrupt the slandering, he added, "including you, dear Cissy."

"Well," Narcissa said without faltering or missing a beat, "we are all entitled to create our own narrative, even if some end up being unquestionably diluted."

"Isn't she absolute fabulous?" Christian beamed as Narcissa raised an eyebrow, "Oh, fine, all business no fun. My dear young witches," he said turning to study both women, "I believe we are here to create two masterpieces for you, correct?"

"Uh, I know you are doing it for Hermione," Ginny said looking at the man as if he had become a particularly dangerous beast.

"No, no," Narcissa interrupted, "both of you deserve a one of a kind creation made by Christian."

"Hermione, I don't—"

"Bellissa is coming to this affair, Ms. Zabini," Narcissa said tiredly, "she submitted her response to the invitation this morning." Christian gasped and Narcissa added, "I wish I was surprised but that is just how she is, purposely upsetting people for her own amusement.

"Blaise's mother sounds like such a charming witch," Hermione said as she scrunched up her face with displeasure.

"Ugh, you don't even know! Please allow us to help," Christian asked Ginny sweetly, "Bellissa will chew you and spit you out either way, but at least she will have less ammunition this way."

"Fine, I will accept the dress and the help," Ginny said relenting easily enough after that admission, "but only if I am billed for it."

"Your husband has already linked up his vaults for the amazing journey I am going to take you on, my dear, no need to worry," Christian said excitedly reaching out for the two witches and taking them towards the richest fabrics they had ever seen, "now, how do I turn you two into two ethereal beauties?"

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 _Dear Readers,_

 _I know I have been gone for a really long time. I'm sorry. It was so hard to write this chapter, and I don't even know why. The saddest part is that, even though it took so much time, it ended up feeling like a filler chapter. Insulting, I know. It has been a really difficult month, dear readers of mine. Just four days ago I had to go in for surgery to get my gallbladder removed. It was tough, yes, but now I am back and ready to write this wonderful story. I received a really awesome review that pointed out that my chapters felt short, and of course I wouldn't want that (I honestly always felt like my chapters were getting longer and annoying for you!) so this is a stab at lengthier more descriptive chapters. I hope that, if you don't find this chapter exciting, at least you will find it to be better written. Please, share your thoughts with me. It not only keeps me going but it makes me improve my writing._

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone_

 _P.S.: This chapter goes out to ClaraBragge-Ravenclaw for her awesome review that left me speechless and feeling even more grateful for each and every one of you._

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 _Dear BabbstheGabbs,_

 _I read your review and would like to respond at length to it privately, but cannot do so currently because I cannot find you unless you review while logged in._

 _Sending you lots of love,_

 _Kikistone_


	28. Upgrading to Friends

_Song of Choice for Today's Chapter:_

 _Overload by John Legend featuring Miguel_

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"This is becoming absolutely ridiculous," he said to himself letting his body drop onto his desk with the grace of a sack of potatoes as he reached under his desk for the bottle of firewhisky he kept handy when days were this exceptionally craptastic.

"Don't fret, mate," Ron said from his resting place on the chair across his own, "this is such absolute shite that it can only get better."

"Seriously, Ron?" Harry bit annoyed at his friend, "after all we have gone through in our ridiculously short lives, you really just said that?"

"We are getting closer, Harry," Ron shrugged, "we actually got to face them this time around, they are getting confident and that is good. It means that they are going to be getting sloppy soon enough."

"I know that you are right," the Boy Who Lived said with a sigh, sliding a full glass of firewhisky to his friend, "but at the same time, I cannot believe we are still dealing with unsubs. We don't even dare stab a guess at who it might be. Maybe we should—"

"Don't say it," Ron called from his seat cutting a sit short, "we are not handing over this investigation to another team. Our group is solid and absolutely trustworthy."

"We do have a good team," Harry admitted as he gulped down the burning liquid, "what with Seamus and the two female aurors from Daphne's case volunteering."

"Cottey and Burckhardt are good people," Ron nodded downing the rest of his serving, "Daphne was very excited to when I mentioned them the other day, she seems to think very highly of the two."

"Do you think it is a good idea to share case details with your wife?" Harry asked with honest concern.

"What because she is a victim?" Ron asked staring off into the distance, "I don't know if I'd go as far as saying it's a _good_ idea, I'd just say that there have been worse ideas out there, mate. The way I see things, knowing that something— anything, really— is being done about what happened to her is a huge relief."

"Even if we still are as clueless as when we began?" Harry wondered out loud, not really expecting an answer.

"Even then," Ron said getting to his feet. "I am going to go home, I haven't slept one bit in the last twenty-four hours, and neither have you. I suggest you go home to Pansy soon."

"On a first name basis with Pansy, are you?" Harry teased.

"Not because I like her, I assure you. As far as I am concerned, your wife will always the be that pug-faced bitch that made our life a living hell in school," he admitted with a grimace, "It's just that I can't call her Parkinson anymore and calling her Potter feels wrong because of… you know."

"How is she?" Harry could hear his desperation for any details on Ginny's life and he felt utterly guilty; partly because of Pansy, but mostly because the whole mess was all his savior complex's doing.

"I honestly don't know," Ron shrugged uncomfortable, "I have sent her a couple of owls, you know, to make sure her arsehole of a husband is not being a complete twat."

"And…?" he prompted eagerly.

"You know Ginny," Ron huffed out a sigh of disbelieving pride, "told me to mind my own bloody business, that even if living with _Blaise_ was a tormentous hell it still wouldn't be my problem."

"But she is fine?"

"I mean, Mum went to visit her at some point," Ron was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, probably feeling a bit traitorous for sharing private details about his sister's life with her ex, "she wrote to me after and mentioned that Ginny was having trouble accepting how things were sometimes. She'll be fine for the most part, and then she acts up in frustration or anger."

"I guess it could be worse," Harry nodded, and then added, "thanks, mate."

"Don't mention it," Ron said reaching the door and turning to face his oldest friend, "seriously, don't mention it. Ginny would castrate me if she knew."

"Goodnight, Ron," Harry called over his shoulder as his shoulders shook with mirth, "say hi to Daphne for me."

"I will," Ron called back, "don't stay for too long, okay?"

"Goodbye, Ron."

"Fine, fine," and then the door to his office closed.

Once he was alone, Harry reached over for the bottle again as he pondered over the events that had transpired since he'd been woken up by Ron's patronus what felt like years ago. After he had basically run out of his home like a madman, only stopping at the last second to write Pansy a short note, he had flooed into the office as swiftly as possible. So swiftly in fact that he had knocked Ron on his arse because he had been anxiously pacing away a noticeable path onto the black marble floor of the Ministry while he waited for Harry.

Their small team had jointly apparated onto the address the emergency signal had come from and had made it just in time to find the cloaked figures still going at it with the family being attacked. Harry could still hear the terrified shrieks of the mother as she ran to protect her fourteen-year-old son from the particularly nasty curse being casted at him by one of the bastards.

Harry wasn't sure how exactly the operation had gone south; the team had gone over what would happen in case they ever got to confront the unsubs close to a million times, but they had been there for less than one minute when the lot of them started running toward a single figure and then disappeared with the help of a portkey of all bloody things.

"Bloody arseholes," he grunted annoyed as he forced down some more firewhisky, as he laughed without a drop of humor, "why can't I get a break from savage beasts that insist on frolicking around in stupid, ominous black robes." Harry was beginning to think that he would never quit dodging curses sent his way by some faceless bastard who claimed to be a righteous fighter for the better good of magical society.

"Jesus Christ," he said as a more disturbing thought wormed its way into his brain, "Luna was right." He had hoped his old friend would have been wrong, that her brain would have had one of her constant flukes, but it hadn't been the case. The little he had been able to see and gather from their fighting and their habits told him they were DA members. Their style was just too similar to his own, accurate and focused but simple and to the point. Their attacks were always carried out by at least three wizards and they always stayed together, just like Harry had instructed his students to do all those years ago.

"Forgive me," he said to the photograph on his desk that showed a much younger version of himself with his old headmaster, standing together in front of Hogwarts, "you died trying to rid our world from this shite and I just…" He didn't feel the need to finish his thought; if his headmaster had been there he would have known exactly what Harry was thinking.

Letting go of a lungful of air, he stood up and wobbled a bit. "No apparating for you tonight, Potter," he said to himself mildly amused as he walked over to the floo inside the Department Head's office. Looking around the room he felt the insane need to cackle loudly, so that is exactly what he did. He knew his boss didn't particularly like him, and with good reason too. Had Harry given even the slightest inkling that he might want the post, his boss would have been sent into early retirement.

"Useless old man," he shook his head, annoyed at a photograph that was hanging on the wall of the man in question shaking hands with the Minister of Magic, "if y-you weren't so resentful of p-pure blooded people, this w-wouldn't be an issue anymore. Fuck you to the bloody en-d of the world and b-back." Picking up the powder for the receptacle close by, he called "Pansy Potter's Flat, the main living room."

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Pansy had been pleasantly sleeping when a thundering noise coming from downstairs woke her up. One second she had been resting in bed and the next she was standing in a defensive crouch, her wand tightly gripped in her hand. She quickly transfigured her sleeping clothes into something less revealing and more practical as she made her way to the stairs.

"Lumos," she whispered softly, allowing just enough light to see where she was going and not break her neck as she went down the stairs.

"Merlin's balls!" called a familiar voice as a body knocked into the new ottoman chair she had gotten while Harry was away.

"Lumos Maxima!" said Pansy loudly as her wand bathed the entire room in bright light. The sight she found before her was that of her husband drunkenly jumping on one foot as he cursed the innocent furniture to hell and back, "Harry James Potter!"

"Pansy," he said letting go of his foot and pretending to be sober, "I'm so sorry I woke you up, I was trying to be quiet."

"You failed miserably," she said narrowing her eyes displeased, "just how much have you had to drink?"

"What makes you think I —"

"I can sniff out Ogden's Old better than a bloodhound, Potter," she said crossing the room to press her wand against his neck, "out having fun, huh? While I sit at home worried sick about your idiotic arse!"

"I was actually-y at w-work and I had a drink with R-Ron, but then he h-h-had to go and I drank some more," the intoxicated hiccups where overtaking the wizard's words dramatically as he lamented loudly, "I h-ate those wannabe death eaters, Pansy." He elongated her name so much that it made him sound like a deflating balloon.

"Okay," she said lowering her wand and snaking her arm around his torso, "let's get you upstairs, drunky."

"I can still sleep in our room?" he asked happily shocked.

"I told you, Harold," she said steering him in the general direction of the staircase, trying her best to prevent him landing on his face and turning his legendary glasses into contact lenses, "you sleep next to me every night until the day one of us dies."

"S-sorry about not being a-able to sleep her last night," he said apologetically, looking more innocent than a four-year-old, "technically, though, the last time I slept you were snoring next to me."

"I snore?" she asked mortified.

"You do," he smiled sweetly elongating the 'o' dramatically, "the c-cutest, most-t feminine-e snores I've ever heard."

"A welcome change from Ron's snores I bet," she teased pulling him up the steps.

"Pssshhhhhh!" Harry laughed loudly and then whispered, "You have no idea, Pans."

"Oh, Okay," she said as he missed a step, "slowly now. Focus or I'll have to levitate you upstairs."

"Almost theeeeere!" he said stubbornly as he set his eyes on the goal, the upstairs landing, like the determined seeker he had once been. After struggling for a few more minutes, Pansy decided to simply give up and ended up levitating her husband onto their bed. A second wave of her wand stripped him of his robes and trousers, leaving him in his usual boxers and shirt. "Thank you, Pans."

"Goodnight, Harold," she said transfiguring her clothes back to the delicate silk number it had been just a half hour before. "We will revisit this incident in the morning."

"You look pretty," he said as she climbed into bed.

"Shut up, Potter."

Neither one spoke again even though it took them both a bit of trying to fall asleep. Pansy wasn't sure at around what time she had managed to slow down her heart's rhythm from a drum to a soft bass, all she knew was that at some point she had drifted off into sleep just to be woken up, all too quickly, by that blasted clock.

"Harry!" she groaned loudly, annoyed beyond believe by the existence of the idiotic non magical contraption, "I am going to murder you if you don't hush that thing."

"Huh?" said the raven-haired man as he struggled to open his eyelids, "how long has it been going off?"

"Five seconds too long!" Pansy said annoyed, slapping frantically at the luxurious comforter in hopes of connecting with either her husband's arse or the Potter family jewels. "Knock it off or we will be the first wizard and witch to find out what happens to a clock when hit by an avada!"

"I'm trying," he said dodging her angry hand masterfully, "I can't get it to stop!"

"Disconnect the shite then!" Pansy shouted sitting up and giving up on hopeless sleep as the irritating noise finally stopped, leaving them in a silence that felt loud somehow. "Good Lord, Harry, you'd think I was the one who grew up among muggles!"

"Non-magic—" he stopped dead on his tracks when he saw her death glare.

"Smart, smart man," she commended his staying quiet. " I am exhausted thanks to your alcohol-induced antics, so you get to make us breakfast today."

"You are so moody in the mornings," he said with a grimace, "do we have any potion for the pain."

"No, and even if we did I would let you suffer through the consequences of your poor choices," she said from where she was resting, her arm relaxing over her eyes.

"Wife of the year, ladies and gentlemen," he said, breaking into a bark of laughter when she angrily launched for his throat. "Is there anything that will make you more of a human and less of a banshee, Pans?"

"Coffee," she admitted as she reached for his pillow to hug against her chest, "coffee helps."

"No cream, lots of sugar?"

"That, right there," she called with a giant smile on her face, "is why I married you."

"Coming right up," he said disappearing through the door and going to the kitchen to get started on breakfast. It wasn't long before the enchanting smells of a full English breakfast filtered throughout the flat, causing Pansy to moan and get out of bed and rush through her morning pampering.

"That smells heavenly," she called from the kitchen's entrance, where Harry handed her an outrageously large cup of coffee "thank you, Harold."

"Come on," he said flick his head over his shoulder, "let's dig in before it gets cold."

"Please tell me you are going to wash your mouth before you eat," she said faux gagging. He waved his wand to indicate he had enchanted his teeth clean. "Ugh, I hate charming them clean, it is just not the same."

"When I was hunting for horcruxes we didn't get to be picky, so we just got used to it."

"Was it awful?" she asked curiously as she began to systematically eat the delicious food. "I can't imagine being on the run now, let along when I was a brat."

"And what a pug-faced brat you were," he probably didn't mean to say it loud enough for her to hear it, but she did.

"Listen St. Potty," she said raising her knife to level with his glasses, "your lightning scar is going to become insignificant compared to what you'll have gracing your face if you ever call me that again."

"Calm down," he said easily disarming her of her weapon, "you have definitely outgrown your doglike features."

"HARRY POTTER!"

"Shhhh," he asked physically recoiling from her screech, "my head is killing me."

"Oh, _that_ reminds me!" she continued shouting, ignoring his pained face, "Care to explain to me how exactly you left for work and came back drunk off your pants?"

"I don't really drink much," he said, "so please don't think you married some drunkard. I am just really annoyed and worried and overwhelmed Pans. This case is complicated, to begin with, but the bureaucracy makes it even more difficult. My boss is a bigot who hates people like you. I think that a part of him doesn't want us to find these savages."

"How very revolting," she said letting the toast drop from her hand.

"Yes, it is," he admitted as he reached for her cup of coffee and took a sip. "God I make a good cup of coffee," he commended himself as he reached up to defog his glasses.

"You are great a making it," she said getting the cup out of his reach, "may I suggest making your own?"

"Selfish brat."

"Abso-bloody-lutely!" she smiled satisfied as she cut into her perfectly cooked sausage.

"Anyway," he shook his head, "the point is that the case is bloody complicated, Pans, and I don't see it getting any better any time soon. There is just so much red tape to cut through and our budget for it is laughable."

"I cannot help you with the bureaucratic shite," she lamented honestly, "but I could probably help with the budget issues."

"I can't take your money, Pans," he rushed to say, "If anything, I'll use my own."

"From what I've heard, you have donated loads of money to the postwar reconstruction efforts for Hogwarts. You've done your part, Harold," she admitted with a dignified nod, "I can try to reach out to dear aunt Narcissa. Maybe we could create a fundraiser or something."

"It is absolutely freaky that you just referred to Narcissa Malfoy as your dear aunt," he said with a shudder, "is she really?"

"Narcissa was best friends with my mother," Pansy sighed softly as she prepared herself to reveal some of the more heavily guarded details of her upbringing. "They met at Hogwarts and were inseparable until the day my mother died giving birth to me. After my mother passed, my father took it upon himself to shun me from his life completely, giving me my own wing of the manor and leaving me to be raised by Meep and the other elves. It was only with the help of my aunt that I became a civilized young lady, she instructed the elves as to how to educate me and taught me to think, act and speak like a Parkinson should."

"That explains a lot," Harry muttered under his breath causing her to laugh.

"Of course I still had my own feisty personality," she shook her head as she remembered the countless exasperated sighs her aunt had let out over the years, "Even Narcissa struggled to control me, I think she nearly gave up once or twice."

"You do realize how telling it is, right?" Harry said as he tried to shovel as much beans as possible onto his fork, "For the woman who brought up one of the brattiest brats on planet Earth to nearly give up on you?"

"Draco is not that bad," she defended her oldest friend.

"Still in love, huh, Pans?" Harry teased entertained.

"That was actually never real," she said making a disgusted face, "we just spent a lot of time together because we understood each other. Draco is not a good guy. I haven't talked to him much since the war ended, and he pretty much disappeared on all of us out of the bloody blue, but he is a good man."

"And I am Dolores Umbridge," he snorted, "like my pink sleepers?"

"Shut up," she pushed on his shoulder playfully, "I am being serious. Draco is just complicated, but he is not evil like his father. No matter how hard he tried, he didn't have it in him to be heartless. He actually is quite nice when you manage to get upgraded from hated acquaintance to pseudo-friend."

"Goody," he said with mirth, "now I just have to sit here and hope for the upgrade."

"Oh no," she snorted loudly, "that ship sailed on our first day of school when you made him look like a fool before the sorting hat ceremony. From what my elf tells me, though, your darling Hermione is having better luck."

"Ugh," he shivered disgusted, "I still cannot believe those two are married."

"It is unlikely, but Meep assures me they are getting along just fine," she said snagging a sausage off of Harry plate.

"I feel awful" Harry admitted, "I haven't even sent her an owl to meet up. What if he is torturing her or has her locked up or something?"

"Again," Pansy reiterated, "not Lucius. Draco struggles to even keep owls under lock, so I am sure your friend is fine. I am more concerned for his wellbeing, honestly, he has a habit of being controlling and overbearing."

"Oh," Harry beamed, "then he is as good as dead. Hermione is absolutely independent and stubborn."

"I guess we will find out at the ceremony," Pansy shrugged.

"Shite!" Harry cried as he fisted his fingers into his hair, "I forgot to order my robes. Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap! Can I borrow your owl? I need to send a message to Madam Malkin."

"Relax," she said pushing the beans off her plate and onto Harry's, "I took care of that already. Madam M is coming later today to make sure the robes fit you to a tee."

"Merlin bless you, woman," he said getting a hold of her head and kissing the top of it.

"Save your kisses, Potter," she said ignoring the intimate moment, "you owe me and I want something in exchange."

"Ever the Slytherin," he mumbled, and then more clearly he said, "Okay, what do you want?"

"I want you to tell me a secret." Pansy saw his eyes shuttered quickly and she worried away at the inner side of her cheeks with her bite. Fearing she had gone too far, she added, "nothing big, just a secret. You get to choose which one."

"Like what?" Harry's face was as stiff as his tone.

"What was the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you when we were kids?" at her prompt, he relaxed and opened up again as the rigidity left him at once.

"Oh, well…" Pansy readied herself for the juicy secret as her husband blushed furiously. "There was this one time that Seamus, Ron and I had to serve detention with Professor McGonagall, over what I don't remember anymore, but I remember it was something silly because Seamus kept saying how stupid it was that we had to serve detention at all." Pansy shifted in her seat to better face her engrossed husband, "In any case, we were tasked with cleaning some of the classrooms that were closed up. I swear to you, Pans, those blasted rooms must not have been used since Merlin himself attended Hogwarts because the number of cobwebs in there was both worrisome and laughable. McGonagall was with us for most of the cleaning, which was, of course, to be done without magic. Seamus and I spent most of our detention time laughing at Ron because he kept seeing spiders everywhere."

"I think I remember his Boggart being a giant spider," Pansy laughed softly.

"It still is, I'm sure," he said focusing back on her, "I think we cleaned about twenty classrooms that day. When we finally made it to the last one, McGonagall stepped out for a couple of seconds to do who knows what and it was then that Ron, who had been standing next me, starting screaming about a spider having fallen on him or into his robes or something. Before I could do much, Seamus had already pulled out his wand."

"Oh no," Pansy said remembering how things always ended when Finnegan got his hands on a wand.

"Oh no indeed," Harry lamented flushing a deep red, "He used some spell to make the spider disappear, but somehow the spell landed on me or, more specifically, my chinos."

"No!" she shouted in between cackles.

"Yes," he continued, "and just in time for McGonagall's return. When the Professor saw me I tried to dive behind one of the old desks but somehow my underpants got caught on the table behind and ripped. Loudly."

"NO!" she screeched holding on to her pained belly, "Oh god!" she felt the familiar sting of tears behind her eyes.

"Oh yes," Harry nodded looking more like a tomato than a human, "McGonagall indeed got a full frontal of my rear."

"Please tell me she made you walk back to the Gryffindor common room like that," Pansy pleaded desperately.

"She had the decency to fix the tear, and then she called on Professor Flitwick, who happened to be the only male teacher close by, and instructed him to make Seamus' and Ron's trousers disappear."

"NO WAY!"

"I swear," He admitted, "she knew we had used magic but she didn't know who had or why, but she didn't really care. Plus she found it hilarious that we were left to find our way to our dorms half naked."

"How come I never heard of this before?" asked Pansy in utter bewilderment.

"We swore never to speak of it again, of course," Harry shrugged, "so keep this to yourself."

"I will, I will," she said stifling yet another laugh.

"You are not going to let me live this down, are you?" Harry dreaded.

"No way in hell, Harold," she smirked evilly, "but you are forgiven for being a drunken twat last night and for forgetting about your robes."

"And so goes the economy of marriage," he deadpanned, sending them both into yet another laughing fit.

When Harry had taken his leave from the kitchen claiming to be in dire need of a shower and some sleep, Pansy stayed in the kitchen to tidy up. Once she had charmed the dishes clean and was satisfied with the general cleanliness of the room she served herself a second cup of coffee. As she quietly sipped the dark brew, she made a mental note to thank Daphne for the advice; it was going to take time, that much was obvious, but little by little she would get past Harry's guarded demeanor and get upgraded to being a friend.

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

 _Dear Readers,_

 _This chapter is going up on the web tonight only because I promised one of my readers, otherwise I would not be updating until tomorrow morning. Feel free to read, but know that this chapter still needs to be proofread by yours truly with fresh eyes! I am missing my last run-through, but I just don't have it in me now. Forgive me my dears._

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone_

 _P.S.: thanks for all the get-well-soons and good wishes._


	29. The Reason for Gigglewater

_Song of Choice for Today's Chapter:_

 _Talk is Cheap by Chet Faker_

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There were very few things that Narcissa Malfoy loved more than watching a sunrise, for they were the kind of occurrences that reminded whoever was around to witness them that life existed in a constant state of change. As the first rays of fire colored the inky sky, she vacated her bed in favor of her balcony. Silently, she edged the French doors open as she filled her lungs with the smell of wet grass and dawn. She allowed herself to get lost in the moment, worries past and future out of reach for a few glorious minutes.

When she was on that balcony she wasn't Narcissa Malfoy, she didn't have obligations to a community that didn't know what it wanted or where it was going. On that balcony she didn't have a myriad of tasks to get done for a would-be celebration that would more closely resemble a political battlefield than a social encounter. She didn't have a husband serving a life sentence without the right of visitation, and her only child didn't have a latent impulse to want to run away that insisted on acting up every once in a while. When she was on that balcony she was just a woman that enjoyed the kaleidoscopic shine of a bright star that signaled a new chance at self-determination.

"Ever beautiful, ever captivating," she said when the entirety of Sol was hanging over the horizon. Narcissa allowed herself five more minutes of delight before going back into the manor, washing up and readying to grab the proverbial bull by the horns. "Nym," she called softly on the manor's elf. A loud crack announced the arrival of her helper. "How are our spirits this morning?"

"Nym is very excited for the celebration, Mistress!" called the elf enthusiastically.

"Good," Narcissa said appreciatively, "I am actually a bit nervous about the celebration. Today will be the first day that Malfoy Manor opens its doors following the war. Everything must look perfect, not a thing out of place."

"Nym has made sure the garden is ready to decorate like Mistress asked," the elf walked in the direction of the witch's bed as she spoke over her shoulder.

"Wonderful! At what time is the team of decorators expected to arrive?" Narcissa said as she watched the elf begin to make the bed by hand. It was one of the few things that Nym insisted on doing without magic for some reason.

"Nym expects team to arrive by Floo at seven," She stated matter-of-factly after checking a small piece of parchment that she kept handy in her flowery cloth.

"I see," Narcissa said repressing the sigh that wanted to escape her lips, "and do we know how long is it going to take them to turn the garden into my vision?"

"Three hours, Mistress," Nym spoke nervously as she recognized the annoyance in her Mistress' tone. "Nym requested extra wizards, Mistress!"

"Oh," Narcissa said secretly relieved that the crew would good and gone by the time the guests started arriving at two in the afternoon. "That was very resourceful, Nym," the elf beamed, "Do we know how much the extra hands will cost us?"

"No worries, Mistress," the elf said solemnly, "We are still within the monthly stipend the Ministry authorized. Mistress was given more monies due to celebration."

"I hate having to give those pestering old wizards explanations on my personal expenses," Narcissa harrumphed. "It is so humiliating, and frankly absurd, to have our money still under Ministry control."

"Don't upset, Mistress," the elf said holding onto the woman's hand in a caring manner, "Mistress will get sick if Mistress thinks about money."

"You're right," the woman said squeezing the smaller hand softly and letting it go swiftly; weakness was not a trait she wished to acquire at this point in life, "At least Draco was allowed to create a new vault and put all the new profits of the companies there, right? It gives me some peace of mind to know that my grandbabies will have funds regardless of the decision the Wizengamot reaches on our sequestered family vaults."

"Things will better, Mistress," Nym consoled, "and Nym is happy to help Mistress with anything Mistress might need."

"Thank you, Nym," the woman's voice rang with honesty even though both the elf and the mistress knew the former didn't really have a say in her servitude at the moment or otherwise.

"Most welcome, Mistress," Nym said beaming yet again. "Is Mistress ready for breakfast?"

"Ah, yes," Narcissa said in thought for a couple of seconds, "Could you please go to Draco's home and tell him and Hermione that I want to have them over today from early on? We can all have breakfast together in the solarium. I need all the help I can get today and either way they should be here when the guests descend upon the manor."

"Yes, Mistress!" the elf said, excited to meet up with Hermione no doubt. The elf had become close with the young witch surprisingly quickly. "If possible, arrange breakfast in such a way that I can oversee the development of the decorations from the comfort of my chair."

"Yes, Mistress," Nym said with a short bow, "Can Nym do anything else for Mistress?"

"Isn't there always more to get done, Nym?" Narcissa smirked, "After breakfast, please go to Kip and together make your way to Christian's Atelier. It is paramount that the two of you stay there and hover over him until you have both sets of robes in your possession." Narcissa explained, "Christian is absolutely brilliant but he is a bit frivolous with time, especially other peoples. After Kip goes to meet with Ms. Zabini you are to come here and help Hermione to get ready."

"Of course, Mistress," the elf nodded, eager to please.

"You are to stay at her side all day Nym, understood?" Narcissa enunciated carefully. "Hermione is going to be surrounded by hostile people today and she needs us to protect her. I want you become invisible and stay at her side. If you begin to get the sense that she is not fairing too well, I want to you to send me a signal."

"Sparks?" Nym suggested.

"No, that would be too obvious and won't do." Narcissa said looking around her room, her eyes landing on the vase by her bed, "The signal will be a whiff of freesia flowers. They are not part of the selection for today, so there is no chance I will get a false alarm."

"Brilliant, Mistress," Nym complimented excitedly.

"That's all for now, Nym," Narcissa said as she made her way to her closet, "and remember, hover over Christian, or else Hermione won't have robes to wear."

"Yes, Mistress!" the telling crack notified the witch she was once again alone.

Narcissa was surveying the vast selection of clothes that hung in her closet when her eyes landed on a deep forest green skirt that her sarcastic niece had given her two Christmases ago. It was not something magical folks would wear, and Pansy had meant the gift —and every single consequent one from that date forward— to be some sort of twisted practical joke on Narcissa and her beliefs. Regardless of all the implications of admitting so, Narcissa recognized the skirt, with its flowery designs in white purple and yellow, to be quite fetching.

"You can't wear this, Narcissa," she sighed to herself. The beautiful piece had been hanging on the rack for a long time, and though the witch time and again sent longing looks its way, she still hadn't dared sport it. Every time she even considered it her mother's stern face came to haunt her from the other side of the veil. "Mother would probably come back to life just to die again if I wore it," she said as she pulled the skirt from where it hung. "Although Mother would probably take her own life if she knew Hermione is going to be the one to continue the bloodline."

To say that Narcissa felt silly at the moment would be an understatement. She was a powerhouse of her own accord, a leader in her community and a role model. Her mother and other ancestors were long gone. Her prejudicial and impractical husband was out of the equation; she should wear whatever she bloody well wanted, right?

"Sod it," she mumbled softly but determinately, "what can I possibly wear with this?" After rummaging in her closet for what even she recognized to be too long, she came up with a pair of peep toe yellow heels and another one of Pansy's satirical jokes, this time, in the shape of a white blouse with buttons down the front.

Once the shirt was on she began to second-guess herself, "I look like I am wearing one of Lucius old shirts," she worried out loud, "maybe if I…" she trailed off as she reached for her wand and made two small and perfectly round flowers of the same white fabric appear just above the left breast of the shirt. Another flick of her wrist made the shirt fit as if it had been made just for her. "Much better." Luckily the skirt, which tastefully landed just below her knees, fit her like a glove and was excellently complemented by the yolk-colored shoes.

Putting her hair up in a delicate chignon, she looked over her reflection appreciatively and let her thoughts fly out of her mouth in a strange demonstration of despaired verboseness, "I think I might have just brought disgrace and ruin onto my family." Her guilt was plentiful, but not enough to get her to change into her usual robes. It might be late in the game, but she was determined to form her own path.

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"Tell me truth," came Hermione's raspy morning voice from somewhere under the sheets, "where you tortured every night, throughout the night?"

"Huh?" asked Draco utterly confused by the question, "what in the world are you talking about?"

"There has…. some reason..." he couldn't quite make out what his wife was saying and when he informed her of the fact he got a loud and startling growl in response. "I said," called the witch as she poked her rat's nest of a head out from under the covers, "that there has to be some reason for your earnest yearning to watch the sun rise."

"I told you," he shrugged, "it's just something I share with my mother."

"Couldn't you share something else with _Cissy_?" She complained as she hid her face from the yellow and orange hues that insisted on dancing over her features.

"Like what?" he asked entertained.

"I don't know, waffle making?" he knew he only had a couple more seconds to enjoy the sights when Hermione's hand started rummaging under their pillows for her wand.

"Does my mother strike you as the domestic type?" he inquired entertained as he looked out the panoramic window.

"No," she admitted as she closed the curtains with a flick of her wrist, "she strikes me as a slave driver though; I just slept a full eight hours and I am still positively exhausted. Who knew there was so much to be learned about etiquette?"

"Everyone?" he wondered out loud, and laughed when he received a substantial smack from the brunette. "Don't fret, Hermione. If anyone can prepare you for today, it's my mother."

"Do we have to go?" they both knew it wasn't a real question but Draco still answered.

"That all depends," he said getting out of bed and going into the bathroom to wash up, "do you want to be on the run for the rest of our lives? Because I assure you that's exactly what we would have to do in order to not be murdered by my mother."

"You would run away with me?" Hermione asked teasingly, though sincerely surprised by the unintentional admission.

"You _are_ my wife," Draco said coming out of the bathroom and dropping right back down onto the bed, "even if I don't particularly like you."

"Git!" called the woman annoyed as he chuckled softly.

"Besides," he continued ignoring her insult, "I don't think I could handle mother complaining about you every day ad nauseam if you are not there to endure it with me."

"Aw, Drakey," she cooed in her best impression yet of third-year Pansy, "I knew you loved me, I just didn't know it was this much!"

"Don't make me hurt you, woman," he grunted playfully smacking her with a pillow on the chest.

"But Drakey—"

"Hermione," he cautioned seriously.

"Fine, fine," she said with a short laugh under her breath as she went to brush her teeth and wash her face. "Ah!"

"Everything okay?" called Draco as he fluffed up the pillow behind his head.

"Yeah," Hermione said coming back out of the bathroom, a hand on her chest and Nym in tow, "this one just gave me a heart attack, is all."

"Nym is most sorry to have startled Mistress Hermione," the elf said worrying at her hands in distress, "Nym didn't mean—"

"It's okay Nym," Draco soothed her, "Hermione might not look it, but she can be quite dramatic when she wishes to be."

"Hello pot, I'm kettle!" Hermione sassed. "He is _partially_ right though," she said to Nym, "no need to fret. I was simply startled. To what do we owe this pleasure, dear Nym?"

"Mistress Narcissa is inviting both Master and Mistress Hermione to the manor for breakfast in the solarium," the elf explained, "Nym arranges everything for Master and Mistress Hermione to ready at the manor."

"Oh," Draco said turning to look at Hermione, "what do you think?"

"Does it matter?" Hermione asked, "I don't want to insult your mother; besides, she has a lot with which to deal today."

"How very thoughtful of you."

"Are you sassing me again?" she asked raising a brow, "I can't always tell when you are being sarcastic."

"I know," he said ignoring her query with a sardonic smirk.

"Conniving snake," she muttered irked.

"And proud," he shrugged. "Nym, Madam Malkin should have delivered my robes directly into the closet, you can take those now to my chambers at the manor. Thank you."

"Oh thank God," Hermione called out in relief once the elf was gone, "I was worried I have to wear stuffy clothes to breakfast too."

"Not unless you want to do so," Draco answered entertained, "A few years ago it wouldn't have been up for discussion but now that Lucius is… otherwise occupied… Mother and I entertain a more relaxed approach to life."

"If you say so, but that's not what the etiquette lessons hint at," Hermione said as she went to resume the morning ritual the elf had disturbed.

"You have no idea what it was like," Draco said following her, "growing up with Lucius was so… formal."

"Is formal now a euphemism for terrifying and scarring?" Hermione said moodily.

"That too," he conceded. "He is one twisted man, Lucius; probably a mixture of all those years of exposure to dark magic and his own rotten personality."

"Are you trying to make excuses for him?" Hermione asked cross. "He tortured you, Draco, within an inch of your life if the scarring on your back is to be believed. He traumatized poor Dobby badly. Do _not_ defend it!"

"I am not trying to defend him, Hermione," he said insulted himself, "I just try to understand the why behind the man."

"I just hope it's not genetics," she sighed as she began brushing her teeth by hand, "I couldn't deal with our children being that way."

"I don't think myself to be particularly awful," he swallowed awkwardly as he rested his weight against their double vanity. "There are equal amounts of notable and notorious Malfoys and Blacks among my ancestors."

"Don't take this the wrong way," Hermione uttered after rinsing her mouth, "but has there ever been a Malfoy or a Black that didn't think, at least at some point in their lives that they were better than people like me?"

"Aunt Andromeda, on the side of the Blacks," he said without pause of thought, "Great, great, great uncle Danforth, on the side of the Malfoys."

"I am guessing their names were not exactly welcome at family parties when you were growing up?"

"Only as cautionary tales," Draco nodded. "Our children will have you, I am certain you will make them into decent human beings."

"You know," Hermione whispered as she studied her reflection, "every so often I will do or say something and it makes me aware that this," she gestured between the two of them, "is our reality. That I am actually married to you, and you to me; that we are to have kids one day… We really are stuck together, aren't we?"

"Hermione are you…" Draco cleared his throat, "If divorce is something you—"

"No, nothing like that," she rushed to clarify, "It's just so… bizarre. Sometimes I don't even think about it but others…"

"It's an adjustment," he conceded, "but I think we are doing quite well, don't you?"

"Better than I expected, honestly," Hermione admitted, "I guess it is just something to which I will have to grow accustomed."

"I don't want you to feel like an outsider for the rest of your life," Draco wasn't sure why he yearned so much for her to feel as if she belonged in his home, his life, his family… but he did. "It's a shite way to live."

"I have always felt like I don't quite belong," Hermione shrugged, "I wasn't quite _normal_ before going to Hogwarts, others new I was different. Then, at school, I wasn't your typical Gryffindor."

"Thank goodness for that," Draco felt his body shudder at the thought, "I would have offed myself if that were the case. No matter how much time passes or how much I change… I can't stand your lot. Impulsive, reckless, stupid for the most part… It's appalling really."

"Shush your mouth, you arse!" Reprimanded the lioness as she smacked his arm with force, "Godric Gryffindor was a courageous man, Albus Dumbledore was a brilliant man, Harry saved us all!"

"Yes, yes, like I said," he rolled his eyes, "for the most part Gryffin _dorks_ are idiots, you are an exception. I feel blessed for that. Were I in Zabini's shoes, bonded to the quintessential Gryffindor, I would have jumped off a bridge. Head first."

"That's my best friend, you git!" she tried to sound indignant but her laugh betrayed her.

"Whatever," the former Slytherin said, "I just hope you find that, even if you don't quite fit in this new 'world', you feel comfortable in our family of two."

"Four," the witch said a bit choked up.

"What do you mean?" he asked confused.

"Your mother, Nym, you and myself," Hermione counted off with her fingers, "family of four."

"Leave it to you to include the elf," Draco shook his head as he rolled his eyes.

"I will sooner kick you out of the family than Nym," she said entertained as she planted her palms against his back and started pushing. "Let's hurry, Narcissa is waiting."

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"Children, is that you?" Narcissa called from the hallway leaving to the main foyer.

"Yes Narcissa," Hermione called loudly as she readied herself for a lecture on why witches should not wear jeans. However, the sight that entered into the foyer made her forget her own predicaments as concern for her mother in law's sanity flushed her system.

"What in the _world_ are you wearing, Mother?" Draco asked aghast.

"You don't like it?" asked the older witch confused looking down at herself, "I thought I looked quite lovely earlier when I dressed."

Draco pulled out his wand and pointed at the woman as he pushed Hermione behind him, "Who sent you here?" he demanded forcefully, "Where is my mother?"

"Oh for crying out loud," Narcissa said annoyed, "Draco Lucius Malfoy Black, I swear that if you do not put that wand down I will put you across my knees and smack your bum like I used to do when you were a child."

"Mother?" Draco asked bewildered as Hermione went into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

"Who else would it be?" Narcissa asked ticked off, "Seriously, Draco, you should see a healer; paranoia is not attractive." Hermione laughed even harder at that comment.

"What are _you_ laughing at?" Draco turned on his wife who was clutching her stomach as tears watered her eyes.

"S-she said she would… across her knee" the witch was now gasping for air "your face!"

"Hermione Jean Granger, if you do not compose yourself…" Draco cautioned.

"What?" she laughed harder, "you will put me across you k-knees?"

"This is your doing!" he accused his mother as embarrassment colored his features.

"Hermione," Narcissa sighed, "you need to compose yourself."

"I c-can't-t!" Hermione looked like she was in pain now, but the laughs kept coming.

"If you manage to get a hold of yourself I promise to show you an humiliating photograph of Draco's fifth Halloween."

"You wouldn't!" Draco cried loudly as Hermione abruptly stopped her giggling.

"I would," Narcissa said, smirking in a way that made the young witch think of Salazar Slytherin himself, "Now, can we break our fast?"

"Seriously?" Draco asked, "We are not going to address your attire?"

"What is there to address? Pansy gifted me this blouse and skirt a while ago," Narcissa said walking out of the room, Draco and Hermione following closely.

"As a _joke,_ Mother," The blonde said bewildered, "You were dismayed when you opened the box, remember?"

"Times are changing, dear!" Narcissa said excitedly, "The Dark Lord is gone, Lucius is not here to dictate my life, Hermione is going to be Minister. It is an exciting time to be alive and I plan on enjoying it."

"She's right, Draco," Hermione interjected, feeling enthusiastic as the truthfulness of the witch's speech got to her, "It is a new era and we can be whatever we want, act however we wish, think however we see fit."

"And it's all due to you," Narcissa said proudly, "thank you, dear."

"It was mostly Harry's doing," Hermione said uncomfortable in her own skin, "I just helped."

"You are the reason those two idiots made it past first year, Hermione" Draco rolled his eyes. "If it weren't for you, Weasley would still be trying to levitate that feather!"

"No he wouldn't," she said confidently, but then added reluctantly "but he might have been stuck trying to pass potions still."

"I'll say" Draco said entertained as they reached the table in the solarium, where he held out both the chair for Hermione and for his mother.

"Thank you, my dragon," Narcissa sighed taking her seat with complete grace.

"Yes," Hermione agreed, "Thank you Draconius."

"We both know that is _not_ my name," he spat out through a clenched jaw.

"You really shouldn't grind your teeth," Narcissa sighed annoyed.

"She's right" Hermione agreed as she gestured at his mouth, "it causes severe damage to not only your teeth but also to your jaw."

"Thank you, Healer Granger-Malfoy" Draco taunted.

"Your welcome, patient git," Hermione nodded kindly.

"That reminds me," Narcissa said ignoring their bickering as she opened her serviette on her lap, "Hermione, is there a particular reason why you decided to change your name?"

"Ah, yes," Draco said recalling a conversation he'd had some time ago with his wife, "we still need to do something about it. It's a mouthful and that's not good for political endeavors."

"I understand that it is not an easily marketable name," Hermione admitted, "but it doesn't feel right to leave my family name behind. I might be a Malfoy now, but Granger was my father's name and…" her throat began closing as her eyes started to sting, "it's all I have left of my parents. It is not about disrespecting either of you, it's about honoring my parents."

"That's lovely, dear," Narcissa said moved, "We will find a way to make it stick."

"I've been trying to come up with something," Draco said beginning to dig into his eggs benedict, "but nothing significant has come to mind."

"It's a new era," Hermione stated, "and my hyphenated surname is the representation of it, how hard can it be?"

"That's good," Narcissa said as she sunk berries and bits of granola into her parfait with her spoon, "the union of the past and the future, the end of prejudice, acceptance… I will take over on the matter. Hermione Granger-Malfoy it is." Hermione sighed in relief as she began buttering her toast with a smile. "Oh, look! The decoration team has arrived."

"There must be about twenty witches and wizards out there," Hermione said surprised as the people in question began casting spell after spell in the garden. An expansive dance floor appeared out of nowhere. White Wisteria flourished into existence, hanging dramatically from the high trees, as tables draped in perfectly starched tablecloths where levitated into the garden. White and pink orchids made for elegant centerpieces. "Wow. Is there anything you can't do, Narcissa?"

"Cook," said mother and son simultaneously, sending them as much into hysterics as the two could. "Talking about food," Narcissa said looking at Hermione's plate, "is that all you are going to eat?"

"I'm afraid my stomach wakes up somewhere around eleven in the morning." Hermione sighed, "usually toast and coffee or tea is the way to go."

"You might want to load up on carbs," Narcissa suggested as she sipped her peach juice, "The only way we are getting through today's agenda is with lots of alcohol."

"Don't say that to her," Draco sounded peeved, "you will scare her, Mother."

"Would you rather I send her into shark infested waters with a smile and an alcohol vulnerable stomach?"

"On second thought," he said turning to look at Hermione, "you might want to have a couple more of those butter-marmalade toasts."

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"Is Mistress Hermione done with her breakfast? If Mistress Hermione is ready, Nym would like to begin with the pampering," Nym said reaching the table she had painstakingly put together for the family she served. Nym had tried to provide for every need her master and mistresses might have. She felt confident she had finally gotten it right too given that, for the first time since Mistress Hermione had joined the family, Nym had not been called to fetch something she had forgotten to supply.

"I am ready if you are," the witch said giving the elf one of the most caring smiles she had ever seen. That was the thing about her new Mistress, she always seemed happy to see Nym and she never got angry either. Nym was happy that it had been Mistress Hermione who had matched her Master. Master was a good wizard, who deserved a good witch, a smart witch, someone that was like him. Mistress Hermione was exactly what her Master needed.

"Wonderful," Nym beamed excited to help her lovely Mistress. Then, remembering that her lifelong Mistress might need help, she turned to the witch to quickly offer assistance. "If Mistress Narcissa needs help too, Nym would be happy—"

"No, no," Mistress Narcissa interrupted softly, "I am more than capable of dressing myself and casting make up spells. Your helping Hermione is all I ask of you today."

"Of course, Mistress Narcissa," Nym bowed so deeply her nose touched the floor. The respect she felt for the older woman rival none other. Narcissa Malfoy had always been a good mistress to Nym, saving her countless times from the wrath of her evil husband. Of course, Nym had never call Master Lucius evil outside of her own head, but there was no doubt that man was awful.

"Same here," Master Draco said as he lifted his cloth napkin to his mouth. He didn't have even a speck of dirty, but Master Draco always cleaned his mouth and jaw either way, "take care of my wife and I will be happy." Nym often had a hard time trying to understand how Master Lucius and Master Draco could be related. One man was completely callous and vile while the other was fair and polite.

"Of course, Master Draco" Nym said excitedly when Hermione began standing to join her in the suit that would have been rightfully hers had Mistress Hermione and Master Draco chosen to live at the manor.

"Okay Nym," Mistress Hermione said with a funny expression on her face, "let's get this dreadful show on the road."

"Nym swear that she will not let Mistress Hermione look bad," the elf said hurt that her Mistress would think otherwise, "Nym would hurt herself if—"

"Listen to me, Nym," her Mistress was now on her knees, looking straight into Nym's eyes, "I never want you to think of even saying something about hurting yourself, let along you actually doing so. You are a sentient being and you feel pain just like I do. Never, ever, under any circumstances let anyone command you to hurt yourself. _Swear_ to me you will never do so."

"Nym swears Mistress," the elf said becoming easily overtaken by her rampant emotions. "Mistress Hermione is _so_ nice and lovely," she wailed loudly as she hugged the witch with all her might. "Nym doesn't deserve such a good mistress!"

"Of course you do," the witch said as, in a surprising turn of events, she held onto the elf's small frame. This, of course, sent the elf further into tears.

"Good Lord," called Master Draco as he found the elf and her mistress on the floor, holding onto each other for dear life, "Has something happened?"

"I was just bonding with Nym," Mistress Hermione said standing to her full height.

"That's all well and good," the blonde man said as he turned to the elf, "but only as long as I am always Nym's favorite."

"Draco!" Her mistress snapped as she flicked the man's nose.

"Ouch! What is it with you and physical violence," asked Master, "You really need anger counseling, you know?"

"Go bother someone else, will you?" The woman said as she turned to Nym, "Ignore him, please."

"Nym would never—"

"Yes, yes, I know…" her new mistress sighed, "lead the way, Nym."

It took them a good five minutes to make it to the correct door what with the short impromptu tour that Nym had decided to give the endearing witch; but once they made it to the Calla Lily Suit, the elf became all business.

"Mistress must shower," the elf said as she pushed her into the ensuite bathroom that had been stocked with all the products the witch liked as well as some others that claimed to be able to buff, exfoliate, polish or soften every inch of her body. When the witch had tried to send her away, the elf refused and explained, "It is important for Nym to get this part right. Nym will not look, Nym swears. Nym needs to help Mistress with all products."

"Is it absolutely necessary?" The brunette didn't seem pleased at all by the idea, but as soon Nym tried to explain to her how and when to use each cream, tonic, and salve, the woman seemed to change her attitude. "Never mind, stay. If you leave me alone with this I will end up waxing my face and moisturizing my hairy legs."

The shower took almost thirty minutes, which the witch kept reminding the elf was 'an outrageous amount of time to waste under the water.' Then the pair began applying the different moisturizing creams necessary to soften the skin of her body, hands, feet, and face respectively.

"How long have we been in here," Mistress Hermione asked as she looked for something that she didn't find. "Do you know the time?"

"It is now nine in the morning, Mistress Hermione."

"Oh, good," the witch said pleased, "that means we get a little break, right?"

"No, Mistress," the elf shook her small her violently as she emphatically explain to her sweet Mistress they were running behind schedule.

"How is that even possible? It is four hours until the celebration!"

"Nym will have to style Mistress' hair, Mistress Hermione," the elf explained.

"For four hours?" the woman asked dismayed, "surely it's not that bad?"

"It's not bad," Nym lied shamelessly, "Mistress just has lots of hair."

"Right," her Mistress sounded uncertain, "Okay."

"Please put this bathrobe on, Mistress Hermione," the elf said as she struggled not to drag the fluffy item on the floor.

"You're the boss, Nym," the witch said as she turned to face away, switching from her towel to the bathrobe. "I actually quite like this, can I keep it?"

"It is yours, Mistress Hermione," the elf explained with a shrug, "All the clothes and shoes and purses and robes and make up her is yours. Mistress Narcissa got them herself!"

"Of course she did," said the witch with a sigh. "Okay, Nym, do your worst!"

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

"Blaise!" Ginny knocked on the door for the millionth time that early afternoon, "open up already!"

"What do you want?" called the wizard's annoyed voice from the other side.

"I want to use the bathroom!" she boomed, " I am the woman in this marriage, I should be the one hogging the facilities before a big event, not you!"

"Do you know how many bathroom there are in this flat?" Ginny could hear a small chuckle and it made the temper she had inherited from her mum flare.

"Blaise," she said in a perfectly calm and obviously deadly voice, "I promise you that if you do not open this door in the next five seconds your will find dozens of bats flying out of your snobby nose."

"You wouldn't!" called her husband in disbelieve.

"One," she enunciated clearly as she pulled out her wand, "Two—"

"Are you serious right now?" Blaise's voice sounded about half an octave higher.

"What a waste it's going to be when all your pampering goes unnoticed due to the hex, three," she said in faux disappointment.

"Fine!" The man's annoyance was clear as he opened the door to reveal a freshly shaved face and his mostly naked body, the sole exception being a towel at his waist, "You will pay for ousting me from the bathroom."

"No, I won't," she said skillfully sidestepping and taking control of the bathroom without looking at his body too closely; they were already late thanks to the fooling around that had been spurred earlier by that same sight.

"It's not going to be pretty, Ginevra," he threatened confidently, "and when you cry for mercy I will simply remind you how self-assured you currently are."

"All this drama because of a bathroom?" she said getting to work on her complexion with practiced ease.

"You are one to talk," he said crossing his arms over his muscular naked chest. "If there are two words in this world that describe me, those are vain and vindictive. You are in grave danger, my sweet, and I'm afraid no one will be able to stop me from getting revenge."

"I'm so scared," she said rolling her eyes in condescension as she began applying highlighting eyeshadow under her brow "watch me quiver." At her taunt he invaded the space behind her, his deft fingers digging into her sides. The contact should have been painful, but Blaise was quite skilled at keeping his caresses in that blurred line between pain and pleasure. The jolt of electricity, which she now recognized as their joint magic, burned her skin wherever Blaise's skin touched her own.

"You are such a rebellious witch, Ginevra," he said softly as his tongue darted out past his teeth to lick softly on the sensitive skin near her pulse, "but I am willing to take on you."

"You won't win," she said trying to make her voice sound unaffected and failing.

"You would probably be right under normal circumstances," he said snaking his hand from her hip to below her navel, "but I do not plan on playing fair." A small moan escaped her lips despite her attempts to keep her enjoyment hushed. He played with her until he felt her body begin to climb toward release.

"What?" she complained disoriented when he stopped abruptly. "Why did you—" she fell silent when the same fingers that had so expertly played with her reached for her mouth and spread her juices over her lips.

"Taste it," he ordered softly. Maybe it was the intensity of his stare or the fact that she felt like a sex goddess at the moment, but what exactly compelled Ginny to obey his lustful command wasn't clear even to her. All she knew was that doing as her husband had ordered was the most erotic moment she would likely ever experience; especially when Blaise simultaneously sucked on his wet fingers. "Fuck, Ginevra," he groaned out as if he had gotten his hands on the most delicious fruit on earth, "do you see why I call you my sweet?"

"Out!" she said as she blushed furiously, "Right now, out!"

"This is only the beginning, Ginevra," his winning smirk was beyond exasperating to her, "remember, this is your doing," and with that he smoothly turned on his heels, leaving her with her disturbingly inappropriate thoughts and a shiver that felt as painfully sweet as their joint magic's burn.

"Fuck me," she cursed under her breath as she wiped her face clean of the make up to start from scratch. After a few failed attempts at readying herself for the celebration a very annoyed Ginny had called on an even more irritated Kip.

"Mistress Ginevra called Kip?" the redhead knew the elf was cross with her because she had rudely been dismissed by Ginny after handing her the robes Christian had created for her.

"I seem to have grown impaired in the beauty department," the witch mumbled, "If because of your stupid master or the promise of meeting his mother I don't—"

"Mistress needs Kip's help?" the elf asked enjoying herself.

"Yes, Kip, I do" the redhead sighed after a couple of seconds, "I need your help."

"Is Kip allowed to do as Kip thinks is best?" the elf asked in the same patronizing tone she knew was her husband's trademark. Instead of answering, Ginny asked a question of her own.

"Tell me, Kip, does Blaise get his haughtiness from you or do you get it from him?" the elf narrowed her eyes at the witch.

"Does Mistress Ginevra want Kip to help her?" It sounded mildly like a threat and Ginny couldn't help but find it endearing for the old elf to be so defensive of her baby boy.

"I trust you will not let me mess this up?" Ginny asked finally letting some of her nerves show, "Bellissa is going to be there today and from what I have heard she is…" she trailed off, hoping the elf would pick up and fill the blank.

"The most beautiful witch of her time?" was what came out of the elf's mouth.

"I was going to say difficult," the woman said gulping harshly, "but yeah, that too. I just want to get along with her."

"Mistress Ginevra should aim for not being hated," the elf said as delicately as possible and Ginny felt the little sliver of hope in her chest die a most painful death. Kip was excruciatingly loyal to Blaise and his mother, she had discovered over the last month. If even Kip believed that Bellissa was an arse then there truly was no hope for their relationship as in laws, because Ginny would not let the beautiful witch walk over her. Not ever.

"Kip," Ginny said as the elf readied everything she would need to help the witch, "I know I can trust you to guide me and to be upfront about things. What should I do today when Bellissa confronts me?" The elf seemed reluctant to answer so she added, "speak freely, no one other than I will know about this."

"Mistress Bellissa will be nice as long as Master is with Mistress Ginevra," the elf said as she transformed a make up brush into a chair, "please sit, Mistress."

"Use Blaise as a human buffer, got it," she said doing as the elf asked, "anything else?"

"Mistress should spend her time by her friends," Kip said as she handed her a potion for her to drink, "this will make Mistress Ginevra's eyes look awake and bright."

"Oh," Ginny said catching her reflection in the mirror and grimacing. When her nerves had prevented her from getting any sleep, Blaise had decided to take advantage of her restlessness, "do you have anything for the puffiness under my eyes?"

"When Kip is done readying Mistress Ginevra, Mistress Bellissa will not be the most beautiful witch at the celebration, and Master will not want to leave Mistress Ginevra's side," the elf said with a determination that Ginny found slightly hilarious when considering the endearing elf was less than three feet tall.

"Let's knock them dead," Ginny cheered.

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

"With or without you, Ginevra," called Blaise from the foot of the stairs as he looked in the general direction of the clock resting on the living room's mantle, "We are going not going to be on time at this pace and Narcissa Malfoy does not do fashionably late!"

"Coming!" his wife called from upstairs sounding a bit frantic.

"Yeah, you will," he mumbled cheekily to himself as a soft chuckled left his lips.

"Okay, okay," said his wife as she hurried downstairs with a nude clutch that matched her stylish pointed shoes. He took his sweet time looking her over, enjoying how her long-sleeved sky blue robes cinched at the level of her waist only to drop into a perfect A-line that complimented her figure flawlessly.

"What?" she said feeling his thorough study of her, "do I look okay?" she reached up to her fire-like hair, which was done into a messy chignon against the nape of her neck.

"You look absolutely breathtaking, my sweet," he said giving her another onceover. "Is that white lace?" he asked pointing at the white floral fabric that adorned the edges where her robes met at her front.

"Handmade lace," she confirmed, "The designer said it would soften the look further. Do you think it's too short?" she worried as she looked down at her exposed legs.

"Not at all," he negated emphatically, "this event is taking place in the afternoon, cocktail cut robes are perfectly acceptable, Ginevra."

"Are you sure?"

"Ginevra," he sighed, "remember what I said about being vain?" she nodded, "being stylish is the positive side effect of my vanity."

"Well thank goodness for that," she said regaining her signature confidence easily, "is that what you are going to be wearing?"

"Clothes, you mean?" he teased.

"Aren't grey robes a bit too, I don't know, somber for the occasion?" her words were completely at odds with her hungry perusal of his tailored robes.

"Not if they are this particularly light shade of grey," he shrugged calmly, "again, extremely vain and chic."

"Right, right," she said reaching out to him.

"Need support?" he was poking a restless lion, he knew, but he was a bit concerned due to her new found insecurities.

"What I need is for you to apparate us, you arse," Ginevra said regaining her composure and usual Weasley disposition.

"There you are, my sweet," he smile happily, "I was beginning to worry."

"I am telling Narcissa it was you who made us late," she threatened easily. Her comment had the desired effect, too; because the next second her hand was in his and they were apparating to the otherworldly gardens of Malfoy manor.

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

"Daph? Pansy?" came Ron's wary voice as he stepped out of the floo and into the flat Pansy and Harry shared.

"Seriously?" called Harry as he walked in the direction of his best mate, "That's whom you call for when you get to my home?" When he finally came into view, The Boy Who Lived could see Ron's face flush with relief.

"Thank Merlin it's you, Harry," he said letting out a sigh, "I don't think I can handle anymore women today."

"So you came looking for Pansy and Daphne?"

"Mum invaded my home early this morning and nagged me until I decided to escape here." The redhead explained with a heavy sigh. "Pansy and Daph have nothing on Mum."

"I'll give you that much," Harry said easily as they made their way to the living room.

"Who are these people," Ron asked gesturing at the team of 'experts' that had been taken over the living space.

"They are supposed to be specialists in make up and hair," Harry explained, "but as far as I've seen they excel only at torture." As if to justify the statement, one of their wives hissed in pain.

"Lovely," Ron said as he took a seat on the only unoccupied surface in the room, a small ottoman, "I'll take this over Mum's freak out any day."

"Freak out?" inquired Daphne form her seat.

"Yeah," Ron shrugged, "Mum is really nervous about today, you see. Apparently Ginny's monster in law is going to be there today and she is a real _witch._ "

"Ginny doesn't get along with Zabini's mum?" Harry asked worried about the girl turned woman that had been his sweetheart for the better part of the last five years. Before Ron could answer his question, however, Pansy jumped into the conversation.

"Of course she doesn't," she said as her hair was styled into silky dark waves that became some sort of up-do reminiscent of the roaring twenties, "That woman is a nightmare come true."

"Don't say that, Pansy!" Daphne reproved as she turned to face the blanching men. If Pansy thought Ginny's mother was awful then Ginny was in deep shite, "What she means to say is that Blaise's mum can be difficult sometimes."

"No," Pansy insisted as she eyed her husband's features carefully, "What I mean to say is that your sister is in deep, deep shite, Weasley."

"Wonderful," said Ron as he pinched the bridge of his nose, "as if I didn't have enough with work, now I have to worry about Ginny killing someone in broad daylight at the most publicized event of the year."

"I'm sure everything will be just fine," Daphne said trying to soothe him, but when all eyes in the room —including that of the stylists— stared at her, she sighed and added, "On second thought, we better help her."

"We is a lot of people," mumbled Pansy, earning herself a painful pinch from her old roommate, "Ouch!" she cried as she rubbed the now pink skin of her forearm, "What? It's true! Let's not pretend that your sister in law would not have me killed and buried."

"Maybe not killed," Ron provided with a shrug, "but definitely not intact either."

"Today is going to be an absolute mess, isn't it?" Harry said as he got a familiar sinking feeling in the depths of his stomach.

"Yup," Ron nodded with a wide smile, "an unquestionable shite show."

"Alcohol?" Harry suggested already making a beeline for the fully stocked spirits chest Pansy kept in the sitting room.

"I'll take Firewhisky if you have some, but only one," Ron said taking the shot glass from his oldest friend's hand, "We might not be on duty—"

"But we always are," Harry said clinking his glass with Ron's, "yeah, yeah, I get it," he said as he downed the burning liquid all at once.

"Don't over do it!" cautioned Pansy from her seat across the room as the make up artist told her to be still or risk loosing an eye.

"I won't, Pans," Harry said rolling his eyes a bit. He wasn't a child but Pansy sometimes treated him like one.

"Can you hear the whip, Daph?" Ron said cupping his ear theatrically.

"Sod off," Harry said good-naturedly as he gestured for his old friend to follow him into the kitchen. Once they were away from the women, they both let a long sigh out. "She's not bad," Harry gestured in Pansy's direction with his chin, "but she can be a real pain when she wants to be one."

"Thank Godric Daphne is nowhere nearly as feisty," Ron said shaking his head, "I don't know if I could handle her being all up my case like that."

"Pansy is a good wife," Harry reiterated downing a second shot, ignoring both Ron's and Pansy's recommendation to take it easy.

"But?" asked Ron as he eyed his friend closely. When the raven-haired man stared confused, Ron sighed and prompted "Pansy is a good wife, but…?"

"I don't know… I guess I just never thought I would marry someone other than your sister," Harry answered honestly as he rubbed his face with one of his palms. "Jesus Christ, Ginny," he could hear the regret in his own voice, "it's my fault she is going to have a bad time."

"Aside from the monster in law she is doing quite well," Ron assured him, "I wrote to her after our little chat at work and she swore she was getting along just fine with Zabini."

"Ginny Zabini," Harry tried it out and frowned at the aftertaste of it, "never thought I'd say _that_ name."

"I never thought I'd say Hermione Granger-Malfoy either," Ron shrugged awkwardly, "yet here we are."

"Don't compare, those two situations have nothing to do with one another. Your thing with Hermione was nothing more than a confused friendship." Harry's tone was a bit too bitter, but he didn't care much, "Meanwhile, I was planning on marrying Ginny. Please tell me you see how those two situations are different."

"Harry," Ron said softly after a long silence, "I know this is coming from an incredibly self-centered place, but please, whatever you do, do not choose today to lose your shite and unravel."

"Too late," Harry said downing his third shot of Ogden's Old, finally reaching that buzz he had been seeking ever since he realized he would be facing his sweetheart and her new husband that afternoon.

"Morgana help us," Ron said looking at his best mate's semi-plastered face as he started a fresh pot of coffee with a flick of his wrist.

"We are all set," called Daphne's voice from the living room, "we just need to change and we will be on our way!"

"No rush!" Ron said as he forced a cup of dark brew into Harry's unwilling hand. "Drink this or I will tell Pansy you chose this very important day to get pissed."

"You are supposed to be on my side, you piece of shite friend," Harry retorted with only a bit of bite as he began drinking the coffee.

"There are no sides, Harry," Ron said looking out the kitchen's window, "We are all just trying to navigate the messy aftermath of the Ministry's idiocy, which is going to be very difficult for both you and Ginny if you are not in control of yourself."

"Uh-huh," Harry said as he downed the coffee in the same way he had downed the alcohol. "I feel like an arse all around, Ron."

"For getting pissed?" Ron asked confused.

"Also," the green-eyed man sighed, "but mostly for not trying to marry Ginny at that ceremony, for thinking about her now when I married Pansy, for not being a better husband; the list goes on and on and you don't get it, Ron. You have it pretty good, all in all, so don't try and feed me this crap about us struggling. I have a humongous pile of shite on me and you are getting pastries delivered to your home because your wife is that nice."

"Are you quite done?" Ron asked patiently.

"You can be such a prick sometimes, Ron," Harry said huffing angrily.

"So can you mate," Ron rolled his eyes, "especially when you get all Moaning Myrtle like you are now."

"Are we about ready to go?" Harry said walking away from his friend and in the direction of the women.

"Ready!" call Pansy as her and Daphne joined them in the living room once more. "Everything okay, Harold?" she asked tentatively as she snaked her arm into the crook of her husband's arm, "You look upset."

"I'm fine, Pans," he mumbled, "I just really hate these things."

"I'll handle the people, and we can leave early if you wish," she said smiling softly at him, "don't worry."

"Thanks, Pans," he nodded at her.

"Ready?" He nodded again and they were gone with a telling crack.

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

"Was Harry drunk just now?" Daphne asked softly holding onto her husband's hand as if for dear life.

"Yup."

"It's not going to be pretty is it?" she sighed already knowing the answer.

"If Harry's mood is any indication of what awaits us today," Ron said looking at the place where Harry and Pansy had stood a few seconds before, "then Godric help us."

"Salazar," Daphne exhaled already feeling tired, "what a waste of nice robes."

"I was going to mention it before but got caught up in the drama," Ron said turning to look at her as a deep blush reached out from his cheeks to his hairline, "I don't think I'd ever seen a prettier witch, Daph."

"Oh," she said looking down at her heels, "You don't think I look strange?"

"Why would you?" Ron asked confused.

"Well," she said studying the designer robes that perfectly matched her pale pink shoes, "It's unconventional for a witch to wear pants at a formal event. It is not seen as… well, actually it is not seen at all."

"If it makes any difference I think you look absolutely breathtaking, Daph," he said invading her space slowly. "I don't know anything about fashion or high society," he shrugged, "I am only a Weasley, after all; but I think you should wear whatever will allow you to feel beautiful and comfortable. And if people try and say anything I will shut them up!"

"Why are you so nice to me?" Daphne asked for the millionth time during the short span of their marriage, still not understanding why he saw her as something she wasn't, "I am nothing special, not anymore at least. You will realize that today."

"What are you even talking about?"

"What happened to me is the worst kept secret in wizarding society. They will know and they will talk and you…"

"And I will deck whoever tries to say or do anything out of line," Ron assured her. "You are my wife and to get to you they will have to go through me. I don't care what they think or say about me, but you are _not_ to be even looked at the wrong way."

"You are much more than I deserve, Ron," she whispered as she looked at the white ceiling trying to prevent getting emotional, "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me, Daphne," he said getting even closer and giving her the softest of kisses on her temple. "Ready to go?"

"Yes, let's," she said straightening her spine and putting on a mask she hadn't felt the need to wear since she had moved in with the redhead in front of her. "With some luck, we will make it before Harry can try and get Blaise to execute him."

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

"Will you look at yourself, oh, Hermione!" the older witch clapped a bit in excitement. "Christian did such a good job with this dress! Hand-made red lace, a nice loose skirt for the perfect princess cut and that hat! My dear, you look absolutely fantastic. These old geese will not know where to hide their own clothes once they see you in this master piece!"

"Thanks, Narcissa," the young witch said, equal parts grateful and overwhelmed by the compliment. "Where's Draco?"

"I'm here," the man in question said as he entered the room fussing with one of the sleeves of his fancy robes. When the wizard's eyes landed on his wife they did a funny summersault. "Hermione."

"Hi," she sounded shy and she could have kicked herself for it. What was it with her pathological need to act weird of silly around him?

"Doesn't she look lovely, Draco?" Narcissa asked eagerly.

"She always does," was the wizard's only comment on the matter. "Now remember, some people are going to try and make you feel unwelcome; don't let them. This is your home, you are a Malfoy and they owe you respect."

"But also don't be rude," Narcissa cautioned. "Instead, navigate people with finesse as we've been practicing."

"Mother and I will be introducing you to key players tonight," Draco continued, "we will queue you discreetly on how to handle each individual."

"We will try to always be at your side," Narcissa added, "but there is a good chance you might find yourself alone. Don't panic."

"If things get nasty, we will know and will come and find you," Draco assured her.

"How will you know?" Hermione asked overwhelmed.

"We just will."

"Am I supposed to blindly trust that you will know when to save my neck?"

"Yes," Narcissa nodded.

"Remember," Draco said holding onto her shoulders in a comforting manner, "regardless of what happens here today, we are going to be away on vacation come tomorrow morning."

"Thank goodness for that," Hermione said letting out a sigh. A crack of apparition alerted the group of the arrival of the first guests.

"Let's make today count, dears," Narcissa said as she turned to welcome a bitter-looking man that reminded Hermione of Winston Churchill, "Desmond, Clarisse, welcome! Have you met my lovely daughter in law?"

"Mrs. Granger-Malfoy," the old man said once he was in front of the welcoming party, "It is most pleasing to make your acquaintance, your husband has told me quite a bit about you. My name is Desmond Barnaby, I am a member of the Wizengamot, and this is my wife Clarisse."

"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you," Hermione said in the most regal voice she could convey.

"I am most excited to be here today," the old wizard did not seem excited in the least, but he appeared nice enough, "after corresponding tirelessly with young Mr. Malfoy here, I almost feel like we have been friends for years, you and I."

"Well I am most excited about your presence," Hermione said trying to assure him while skillfully avoiding the comment about friendship. She knew Barnaby was one of the members of the Wizengamot that had pledged their support to her, but she didn't want to seem overly eager. The sound of apparition rang again, and a younger couple quickly began making their way toward their group. "Please, make yourselves comfortable," Hermione said trying to imitate her mother in law's complacent smile.

"Thank you, Madam," Barnaby said with an elegant nod, "You got lucky Mr. Malfoy."

"Sure, Desmond, let's call it luck."

"Undersecretary," Narcissa smiled slyly at the young man, "how lovely to see you. Is this your blushing bride?"

"Yes, madam," said the witch awkward, "my name is Amanda."

"Ah, yes," Narcissa smiled big, "Quincy Periwinkle's daughter, correct?"

"Yes, madam. Father sends his most regretful apologies, he is sick and will not be able to attend."

"Oh yes," Narcissa said gracefully, "I received the most lovely arrangement of freesias earlier this week as an apology. Do give him my best?"

"Absolutely," the younger witch nodded.

"Have you met my wife, Undersecretary?" asked Draco as he gestured with an open palm at Hermione.

"Not in person," Hermione answered for him with a charming smile, "but we have exchanged significant amounts of correspondence, have we not, Undersecretary?"

"Oh yes," the man nodded flattered at being recognized. "Your wife is very passionate about the rights of magical creatures."

"Hermione is very impassioned when it comes to the betterment of our society," Draco smiled, "it's one of the things I most like about her."

"What a sweet thing to say," Amanda Acton said moved by her words. "You sure make a beautiful, though admittedly surprising, couple."

"Isn't that the truth," Narcissa laughed happily, "You two, on the other hand, are no surprise at all."

"We were lucky," the wife of the undersecretary admitted as she turned to Hermione to explain, "We were engaged for almost a year before the marriage act passed."

"I am glad you two matched, then," Hermione said honestly.

"Isn't it amazing just how outstandingly the pairings worked out, Undersecretary?" Draco's tone sounded off, but only to a trained ear.

"Most amazing," the man answered as he eyed Draco closely. "Thank you for the invitation and for hosting this celebration," he smiled. "Mrs. Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Granger-Malfoy," Undersecretary Acton nodded and excused himself and his wife.

"Draco…" Narcissa cautioned softly when the couple was out of earshot.

"It was too easy, Mother."

"What did I miss?" Hermione asked confused.

"Nothing," Narcissa said as her son simultaneously promised to share later. Another loud crack announced the arrival of yet another party; this one composed of four couples.

"It's going to be a long day," she sighed under her breath.

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

"Mr. Zabini," called an annoyed Narcissa Malfoy as soon as her eyes landed on Blaise and Ginevra, "how typical of you to be almost late."

"Narcissa Malfoy," Blaise said turning all of his charm onto the woman, "don't you look absolutely fetching in those robes."

"That is my mother, Blaise," Draco cautioned from where he stood between his wife and his mother, "refrain from being nauseating."

"Do refrain," Narcissa agreed as Hermione added a 'seriously do'.

"I was simply complimenting the artistry of the designer," Blaise pretended to be insulted, "How clever of him or her to watermark a day at the beach over such rich cream fabric. To the untrained eye, it would just look like a beautiful array of varied shades of blue, yellow and purple whimsically dyed onto it."

"Be honest with me," Ginevra sighed next to him, "when did you realize you liked wizards?" the comment caused Narcissa to actually let out a shocked gasp while Hermione and Draco struggled to contain their laughter.

"Isn't she something?" Blaise asked Narcissa as he bit back the very indecent answer he felt tempted to give to his wayward wife.

"Indeed," Narcissa said regaining her composure, "Ms. Zabini, how lovely to see you again. Were the robes to your liking?"

"Christian is a genius," the redhead admitted as she beamed, "he understood what I wanted and delivered tenfold. Please send him my best."

"I will, Ms. Zabini. Enjoy yourselves, dears," the older witch dismissed them politely.

"Before we go, can I…" Blaise cleared his throat awkwardly, "Has my mother arrived yet?"

"Unpunctuality is a family trait, it seems," Draco's tone was beyond sardonic, but Blaise didn't care.

"Fantastic," then turning to his wife, "come on Ginevra, let's have some fun before my mother can ruin your night."

"Save me, Hermione," called the woman in question to her red-clad friend before Blaise could take her away.

"I'll try, I promised," she assured as Blaise angled Ginevra in the general direction of sparkling goodness.

"What is this?" Ginevra asked when he gave her a glass of it.

"Try it," Blaise said shrugging, "it's the good stuff." After taking a sip, an uncontrollable giggle left the witch's mouth. "Isn't it fantastic?"

"Why would anyone want to drink this?" Ginevra asked equal parts stunned and entertained.

"Blaise Ignatius, is that you?" called a voice he knew all too well not far away.

"Because women such as this one exist, and situations like the one about to take place, happen," Blaise whispered and then, turning in the direction of the demure voice that had called out to him, he added with a big smile, "Mother, aren't you just a sight for sore eyes."

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 _If you want to see pictures for my inspiration for dresses, locations, homes, flats, etc. Follow me on Instagram at kikistonewrites. I will be posting pictures of Hermione and Draco's home, Pansy's flat, Hermione's wedding dress, and more!_

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

 _Dear readers,_

 _Good lord have I missed you! I have been going utterly insane trying to get this chapter out to you; you haven't the faintest idea how tough it's been. Big thank you to my friends, purplehedgehog13, ClaraBragge-Ravenclaw, GeekMom13, PeppermintIce and, of course, my beta, Billoseth. Shout out to Nicole and Petulantpages, you guys make me the happiest of writers. To all my readers, who continue to support me no matter how out there this story might be: thank you, thank you, thank you!_

 _This chapter is so long and we still haven't even gotten into the good stuff, huh? The next chapter is going to be the rest of the party. I promise it is going to be amazing, I just needed to get these twenty-one pages out to you. I don't want to lose you as readers just because my chapters are now longer and editing lasts forever, so here you go._

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone._

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 _For the guest that asked me to announce when the different couples would appear because they don't like the match between Harry and Pansy:_

 _I understand that what I am about to say is going to mean my losing you as a reader, but I simply refuse to announce my matches so you can skip parts of the story. My plot is not a collection of one-shots and should not be treated as such. It is a multi-perspective story in which the whole idea is to follow our heroes and antiheroes as they adapt to a new, daunting, reality. That includes Pansy and Harry together as a couple. I'm sorry to see you go. My most honest thanks for reading up to now!_

 _Best,_

 _Kikistone_


	30. An Absolute Shite Show

_Songs of Choice for Today's Chapter:_

 _New Americana by Halsey_

 _Seven Devils by Florence + The Machine_

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"Always such a charmer," said the most beautiful witch Ginny had ever set eyes on as she kissed both of Blaise's cheeks, "and you must be Ginevra, yes?"

"I, Uh…" Ginny wanted to sound like an intelligent being, but she was a bit baffled by the fact that Blaise's mother did not look a day over thirty. With her shiny black hair and perfectly smooth complexion, Bellissa Zabini was almost as captivating as a veela. "Yes," the redhead finally managed, "Nice to meet you, Madam."

"I bet it is," the smile on her mother in law's face sent a strange chill into her bones.

"Mother," Blaise cautioned, "be nice to Ginevra."

"You are no fun," Bellissa said with an adorable pout. "Has he always been this boring or only since the wedding?"

"Mother," Blaise repeated in a less friendly tone, "I will not have you be the cause of my divorce."

"What a ridiculous musing, Blaise," Bellissa said with a strange expression on her face, "We both know I do not believe in divorce and would go to the ends of the earth to prevent that from happening."

"Seriously, mother?" Blaise said looking at Ginny's paling face.

"What?" Bellissa asked innocently, "What did I say?"

"You know what you—" Blaise stopped midsentence, "How about you find a table, and Ginevra and I bring the drinks over to you."

"Fetching drinks is a task for wizards," Bellissa said reaching out for Ginny and snaking her arm into hers, "Besides, how am I supposed to get to know my daughter in law with you breathing down our necks."

"I wouldn't mind helping Blaise with—"

"Nonsense," said the witch giving a surprisingly strong yank to the younger witch's arm, "and none of that dreadful Gigglewater, Blaise. It is absolutely unbecoming for women of our status to laugh in such an uncontrollable manner."

Ginny sent Blaise a look of despair as she was carried away by one of the deadliest witches in all of Britain. When they finally settled in an empty and —to Ginny's added stress— secluded table, the stunning witch she unluckily got to call mother in law spoke first.

"I am sure my reputation precedes me and that this comment will probably only make you more guarded around me," the tan witch sighed, "but you truly have nothing to fear, Ginevra."

"I haven't the faintest idea of what you are talking about, Madam," Ginny lied shamelessly as felt up her robes' sleeves for her wand. You could never get too comfortable around dangerous people.

"I am sure that by now my son has revealed how intolerable he finds lying," the woman's stare was calculating as Ginny felt color fill her cheeks, "I assure you, it is most decisively a family trait."

"I was only trying to be polite, Madam," Ginny said through her teeth, annoyed.

"Be that as it may," the woman's tone let on that she didn't believe nor cared for Ginny's intentions, "refrain from lying in the future."

"Yes, Madam," She reminded herself, for the millionth time that day, that she was sitting across from a serial killer, who happened to be her husband's mother, at Narcissa Malfoy's event. If she acted on her wishes to hex the witch, she would have hell to pay.

"And quit it with that, too; my name is Bellissa, I encourage you to use it," said the fastidious woman as she sighed again, "I would like for you to be comfortable around me."

"Pardon my honesty, _Bellissa_ ," Ginny's tone was beyond condescending, "but I am sure you can understand my unwillingness to lower my watch around you. After all," Ginny said giving into her necessity to be slightly wicked, "I am _not a Greengrass or a Parkinson_ ," she quoted the words the witch had written her son in her letter, "I am not exactly afforded the same societal considerations or protections."

"Ah," Bellissa said as she assessed her in a new light, "so the little Gryffindor roars at last."

"So it seems," Ginny said leaning back in her chair, always keeping an eye on the sly woman.

"Lovely," the witch smiled, looking truly pleased to have riled Ginny. "All playfulness aside, though, if you read my letter you must know I am pleased by your union."

"I bet you are," Ginny's smile was triumphant as she delivered her blow, "after all, it is my blood that prevents your bloodline from declining further."

"I thought I was supposed to be the blood purist," Blaise's voice fell over Ginny in the same manner a bucket of cold water would; it was unexpected and dreadful.

"Blaise," Ginny cried as she turned to meet her husband's hurt eyes, "I didn't you were—"

"Listening? There?" Bellissa supplied enjoying herself a bit too much.

"You tricked me!" Ginny snapped at the woman, "you riled me up and—"

"I cannot control the way you feel about Blaise's blood any more than I can control the words that leave your mouth, Ginevra," the woman was having a bit too much fun at the expense of the young couple.

"No, but you can manipulate, herd and overwhelm until something awful and damaging is said," Blaise surprised Ginny by coming to her rescue. "I don't understand you, Mother. I am your only son, your adoration, as you have called me many a time, yet you used my wife to hurt me."

"You were _not_ the target—"

"Who was it, then?" Blaise was furious and Ginny could feel their magic coiling in a dangerous manner, like a snake ready to pounce, "It was _my_ _blood_ being discussed, it was _my_ _wife_ being attacked."

"Blaise Ignatius," Bellissa said upset, "you cannot actually believe—"

"I can, actually," Blaise said giving the older witch one of the beverages he had been holding, "Ginevra and I have some people that we need to greet," he said helping his wife to her feet, "have a good rest of the day, Mother."

"I'm really sorry about that," Ginny said as soon as they were out of earshot.

"About what exactly?" Blaise still sounded cross, "about saying that my blood is not good enough or about falling for my mother's shite."

"I feel really bad about both, Blaise," Ginny said stopping their trek to who-knows-where and reaching out for his hand. "You know I don't care about blood purity, right?"

"I thought I knew," Blaise said snatching his hand back, "but your poison sounded very convincing, Ginevra."

"You can't be serious right now," Ginny said reaching out to him through their magic.

"There is not a single inch of my being that is being silly or playful right now, Ginevra," he said rejecting the magic probe, "I think it is best if we both work the celebration now."

"Okay," Ginny said relieved reaching out her hand, which Blaise dodged expertly.

"Separately," Blaise said turning on his heels and walking away from the witch with surprising ease.

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Pansy was neither stupid nor naïve and thus, when she had submitted her RSVP to the even of the season, she had done so with great reluctance. She had foreseen, even then, that the event would be a messy ordeal. She had not, however, predicted her husband to exceed expectations by arriving pissed drunk. Of course, her being Pansy, she had realized a second too late of Harry's poor state, for as she reached for his hand to apparate away from the celebration a loving voice called out.

"Pansy, my dear," aunt Narcissa called for her excitedly. Pansy withheld a sigh and, entwining her fingers with her husband's, she smiled at the woman who was a second mother to her.

"Aunt Cissa," she said in the most gracious tone one could muster when faced with a drunken husband at an important social event, "You look absolutely stunning, Christian's work?"

"You know it is," Narcissa said hugging the witch's frame, "I have nothing on you, though. Aline Megève, yes?"

"Who else could pull off working with such delicate fabric?" Pansy answered pulling with care on the sleeves that ruffled past elbows. "I was petrified I would tear it as I put it on."

"Well, it was worth the distress I assure you," Narcissa said looking her over. "That woman is a goddess. The way she gave you a cleavage with the solid white fabric under but made it modest by carrying to delicate grey flower-patterned mesh covering it up and around your neck! And you Mr. Potter," she added turning to face Harry, "I would bet a pretty penny on the fact that Madam Malkin is behind those robes."

"Only thanks to Pansy," her husband said uncomfortably, "she was the one that remembered to put in an order."

"Well," the older witch shrugged, "that's what good wives do; save their husbands from their own carelessness."

"Uh-huh," he said rather rudely, ignoring the woman in favor of his childhood best friend, "Hi Hermione."

"Harry!" shouted the witch excitedly before jumping into the man's arms, "I was beginning to wonder if you'd even say hello to me."

"Why wouldn't I?" the man asked absolutely baffled.

"Well," the witch said pulling away and turning to look at Draco, "you know."

"Hermione you could marry the devil," Harry said wrinkling his nose in Draco's direction, "and I would still love you to pieces."

"I was just…" Hermione said, "you haven't exactly reached out since the weddings, so I assumed…"

"However I feel about your spouse has nothing to do with our friendship," he said pulling her in for another hug. "Is the snake treating you well, or do I need to hex him?"

"He could be much worse" Hermione laughed. "He behaves for the most part."

" _He_ is standing within earshot!" Draco complained irritated at being treated as if he weren't there at all. Harry sighed annoyed and Hermione made a funny face.

"Ferret," the Boy Who Lived nodded.

"Potty," Draco acknowledge and then, turning to Pansy, "Pansiferous."

"You don't get to call me that as I am still mad at you, stranger," Pansy narrowed her eyes cross, "I will say, though, that it's nice to know you are still alive and all."

"Don't start with that again," Draco sighed. "I apologized already."

"What is she talking about?" Pansy heard the man's wife ask.

"Oh," Pansy answered all too helpfully, "He didn't tell you, did he? Of course, he didn't! The day Draco took off, he had woken me up via floo call at dawn, why? Because he wanted to have lunch with me; He claimed it was urgent, so I accepted and got my affairs in order to close shop for the day. I didn't even know he had taken off until I was already sat at the restaurant."

"No!" The curly hair woman gasped.

"Oh, yes," Pansy huffed, "Should have seen my face when I was notified by the maître d' that young Mr. Malfoy wouldn't be able to make lunch because he had left the country in a hurry. The gall!"

"Draco!" aunt Cissa and the blonde's wife cried horrified.

"I already apologized!" Draco repeated obstinately, "I even call the family jeweler and sent a gift over."

"Probably the only reason you are still alive," Harry said signaling Pansy with his chin, "On a regular day that would have gotten you tortured and killed by the day's end."

"Rightfully so!" aunt Cissa said heatedly.

"Yes, yes," Draco rolled his eyes, "I'm a rude arse, I know."

"Not like it's new," Harry shrugged.

"True," Hermione admitted.

"Et tu, wife?" Draco was now holding his chest as if wounded.

"That's my line, you brat!" Pansy complained as she began smacking Draco, "You. Woke. Me. Up. To. Stand. Me. Up!"

"Potter, control your wife!"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy!" snapped the curly-haired witch smacking his other shoulder, "Men do _not_ control their wives, mister."

"Finally!" Pansy called satisfied, "something Granger and I agree on."

"Granger-Malfoy," Draco corrected as he rubbed his bruised upper body.

"Of course you would hyphenate it," Pansy said entertained, "even if it doesn't quite roll off the tongue."

"See? I _told_ you!" Draco said gesturing to his wife.

"It doesn't matter," the woman in question answered, "because everyone calls me Hermione. You should too," she added turning to Pansy.

"Oh Gods," Pansy said in faux distress, "it's happening already."

"What is?" Harry asked.

"Us," she gestured around the circle, "become civil with each other."

"It was meant to happen eventually," aunt Cissa quipped entertained.

"It's appalling, really," Draco agreed.

"Indeed," Potter said as he looked around, "I think we should probably leave you to it," he gestured at the mounting line of guests that were waiting to greet the Malfoys.

"Yeah," Hermione said to Harry, "let's meet up after, okay?"

"Sure," Harry nodded, "I'll be by the firewhisky."

"Harry is everything—"

"See you later, Hermione," he called as he simultaneously ignored his old friend and pulled Pansy away.

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"Luna Nott," Narcissa felt her eyes widen as she took in the dreamy-looking blonde, "I was under the impression you and your husband were unable to make the celebration."

"Theo seemed to be under the impression that it was dangerous to attend," Luna smiled calmly, "I disagreed, of course, but he wouldn't listen."

"So, naturally, you sneaked away," Hermione sounded entertained while Narcissa worried. The last thing she needed, the last thing _Hermione's career needed_ , was to cross the Nott heir.

"I did," Luna sounded slightly amused, "I disapparated all his clothes, too. If he wants to come after me, he will have to wear his dress robes."

"How very Slytherin of you, Lovegood," Draco called shocked and entertained.

"Cleverness is a trait of Ravenclaw, Draco," Luna reminded him.

"Cleverness, yes," the man laughed, "deviousness, no."

"If I do what Theo wants," Luna explained, "I will waste away in a crystal case, away from everything fun or interesting. He would even let me go out hunting for rare creatures."

"These Slytherin men need to realize that in the twenty-first-century men do not rule their wives' lives," Hermione was annoyed beyond belief.

"Hermione, a word please," Narcissa said taking her aside while her son finished greeting the woman, "I understand your outrage, you know I am all for independent women, what with being one myself," Hermione nodded her agreement, "but you cannot voice your crossness when it comes to Theodore."

"Why not?" Hermione snapped, "What makes him so special that he is beyond reproach?"

"I don't know, you tell me," Narcissa said smoothly, "In Wizarding Britain there is a single family that can be said to rival Malfoy house in wealth and influence, which family is that?"

"Let me guess," Hermione grunted, "Nott house?"

"Correct," Narcissa nodded. "If we add that to the fact that Theodore did not take part in the war unlike…?"

"My husband," Hermione filled in.

"We find that it is better to…?"

"Keep our noses out of Nott business," Hermione sounded bitter about it.

"If we are to secure their support, yes," Narcissa nodded.

"I really am starting to hate politics," Hermione sighed as she looked in the direction of her airy friend.

"It's a marathon, dear," Narcissa rubbed the woman's back, "if you are to be able to affect the wizarding world as a whole, to lead it into a new era, you need to build up your stamina and create a thick skin."

"You're right," Hermione said straightening her back. "But if he hurts her I will not keep—"

"Nor would I expect you to do so," Narcissa assured her. "I despise men who hurt their wives."

"What about men that hurt their children?" Hermione's voice was harsh.

"Of course I despise them," Narcissa said disgusted, "what kind of question is that?"

"Seriously? You allowed Lucius to—"

"Hermione!" Draco snapped angrily as he reached them. "Do _not_ finish that sentence."

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Draco was fuming. No, fuming was not a good enough description. Draco was murderous. His usually expressionless façade had been replaced by a nasty scowl he had not sported in what felt like years. He had never been so angry with anyone.

"Draco," Narcissa called with wide eyes, "what is she talking about?"

"Hermione doesn't know what she is talking about, Mother," the words tasted incredibly similar to blood.

"No," Hermione said stubbornly as she struggled out of the unconscious grip he'd gotten on her arm, "if Narcissa doesn't know about it then she needs to be told!"

"What do I need to know, Draco?" His mother was now frantic, "Did Lucius… Did he hurt you?"

"This is not the time nor the place to have a conversation like this one," Draco said appealing to his mother's society-conscious mind.

"I could not possibly care less about where we are or who hears!" Narcissa yelled. " _Tell me_ ," she pleaded desperately.

"Even if I tell you it won't matter," Draco sighed.

"What are you saying?" Hermione said enveloping his hand with hers. "Of course it will."

"No, it won't," Draco spat out, "Lucius did something to her!"

"I don't understand," the regal witch Draco called mother was gone, in her place stood a tortured-looking woman.

"The first time Lucius…" Draco trailed off, "I ran to you and, when you saw _it_ , you went after him. I had never seen anyone duel before; I was so scared Lucius would hurt you that I sent Nym to get help. She came back with none other than Minister Cornelius Fudge."

"I don't remember any of this," his Mother's eyes were water wells.

"I know you don't."

"Why?" she asked desperately.

"Fudge ended the fight before Lucius could hurt you badly," he explained, "but you had been hurt a bit. A healer was sent so you could be treated. I wasn't there at the moment you were _treated_ but Nym was. Apparently, Lucius paid the healer to… _persuade_ … your memory whenever I told you about… _things_."

"That's illegal!" Hermione accused.

"Because Lucius is such a law-abiding citizen?" Draco laughed humorlessly.

"I don't understand," his mother seemed lost, "how come you can tell me now?"

"I haven't actually _told_ you anything," Draco explained, "Over time I learned that there are certain trigger words and actions that activate the block."

"I am going to murder him," she promised.

"Mother," Draco said calmly, "that's not necessary, I am—"

"Don't you dare say 'fine'," his mother bit angrily, "he dared hu—"

"NO!" Draco stopped her just in time before she could say it, "Don't say it!"

"We need a healer," Hermione sighed as she worried at her forehead with her hand.

"I don't think I know anyone we can trust," Narcissa admitted as she looked around the room.

"Don't bother, Mother," Draco said as he did the same, "I don't think there's anyone we could… Wait a minute," his eyes landed on one of his old housemates, "Hermione, weren't you and the weasel talking about Daphne being a—"

"A healer!" the brunette shouted excitedly, "Well, almost a healer; she didn't get to finish her studies, because…"

"Poor girl," his mother lamented.

"Don't pity her," Draco ordered them both. "Pity is not what she wants and definitely not what she needs."

"Should we go to her now?" Hermione asked.

"Are you insane?" Draco asked, while his mother gasped out 'absolutely not'.

"I will worry about this," Narcissa assured, "for now, let us go back to the celebration."

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

"Double shot of Ogden's Old," called a familiar voice that made his insides riot.

"Two," he said going to stand by the now stiff witch, "Hello Gin."

"Harry," she nodded, choosing to look straight ahead instead of making eye contact with him.

"Not having much fun, huh?" he asked eying the glasses the bartender put in front of them.

"Not particularly," she replied, "my heels are killing me, the guests are stuffy, and I feel like I am suffocating slowly."

"I've been meaning to o-owl you, Gin," Harry said after downing the liquid courage that caused his words to slur, "I just d-didn't know how to explain you my choices-s."

"Dear Ginny," she sassed, "I am sorry for willingly tearing your heart out of your chest in the most public manner ever imaginable. Forgive me. Love, Harry."

"I am so s-sorry, Gin," he sounded whiny but he didn't care. He needed her to hear him out. "I didn't mean to hurt y-you."

"Does it matter what you meant to do?" She snapped angrily, "You willingly killed our relationship; over _Parkinson_ , of all people!" she was doing that strange thing women did where they whispered and shouted at the same time, "I thought you couldn't stand her!"

"I c-couldn't," Harry admitted, "She's not that b-bad now."

"How glad I am for you," she snapped angrily as she downed her own drink. "Now, if you'll excuse me I have to find Blaise."

"You t-talk about what I di-d," Harry said seeing red, "but _you_ are the one whose s-soul is bound to someone else!" Ginny's eyes went wide as she looked around the garden. The party seemed to have stopped as his brain only picked up dizzying speed. "Why don't you ex-explain that to us a-all!"

"Goodbye, Harry," she said turning away from him.

Before Harry knew what he was doing his hand was tightly gripping her arm and pulling her back to him. Ginny had always smelled like orange blossom; and while the aroma was still there, there was now an undertone of something expensive and smooth.

"Let me go, Harry," Ginny ordered.

"No," he said stubbornly, "you need to listen, you need to understand. I still love you, Gin!"

"Let. Me. Go." Ginny sounded on the brink of tears, " _please_."

"Gin—"

"Potter you have exactly three seconds to let go of my wife before I send your body straight to St. Mungo's."

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"Oh Lord," Daphne said as she tapped eagerly on Ron's shoulder. "We need to do something."

"About what?" Ron asked as he stuffed his face with his second serving of cake.

"Blaise is about to kill Harry over your sister, Ron!" Daphne said pulling him away from the chocolate goodness and in the direction of the scene that was currently unfolding.

"I'm not scared of you, Z-Zabini," Harry's voice called as Daphne and Ron fought to get through the crowd. "Are you even any _g-good_ with spells?"

"Shall we find out?" Blaise sounded perfectly sober and that worried Daphne the most. She distinctively recalled what he'd done to a younger Slytherin when he had dared tease him about liking Ginny Weasley. Oh, the ironies of life.

"Let's!" Harry said as he struggled to pull out his wand.

"How about we all calm down," said Ron as he walked slowly over to Harry and Ginny. "Harry," the redhead said reaching out for his sister's sequestered arm, "why don't you let go of Ginny's arm?"

"So s-she can go with t-that lowlife?" Harry's questioned seemed to really irk Blaise.

"I swear on my father's grave that if you don't let her go," Blaise said raising his wand, "I will—"

"You will _what_?" Harry snapped, "is being a murdered a f-family thing?"

"Harry James Potter!" Harry blanched at the sight of a very angry Hermione, "You will let go of Ginny this moment, and then you will go home to sober up."

"Y-You can't be serious!" Harry couldn't believe his ears. "Why not throw Zabini out instead?"

"Mr. Potter," Narcissa Malfoy's delicate voice carried over to his ears. "You are hurting Ms. Zabini's arm, please let her go." When Harry realized the witch was right, he let go of Ginny. It was particularly painful to see his once-sweetheart run into Blaise Zabini's waiting arms. "Thank you, Mr. Potter." Narcissa was now close enough that he could smell her strong perfume. "Now, please obey my daughter in law's wishes before you embarrass yourself any further."

"I will not—"

"Mr. Potter," Narcissa was still perfectly calm, "if you do not leave of your own accord, we can secure an auror to help you home."

"That won't be necessary," this time it was Pansy's circumspect voice that spoke. Efficient in that way only Pansy was, she took a hold of his hand and apparated them away.

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

"Nothing more to see here folks!" Ron said trying to disperse the crowd. "Go back to your dancing and riveting conversations!" He nodded in the direction of the band on stage and the music resumed as if Harry's little number had never taken place. It took a while but, eventually, the party moved on.

"Thank you, Weasley," Zabini nodded at him.

"What for Zabini?" he asked ignoring the dependent way in which his sister clung to a man Ron wasn't sure he could stand.

"For not letting me kill him," the man shrugged, "that would have been a one-way ticket to Azkaban."

"No it wouldn't," Ginny interjected, "you were defending me and he was belligerently drunk!"

"And he is Harry Potter, my sweet," Zabini said holding Ginny closer to him. The only thing preventing Ron from gagging was the possibility of wasting the tasty cake he had eaten.

"That's ridiculous!" Ginny cried as she rubbed the arm Harry had been holding. "I am fairly sure the bruises in my arm will demonstrate he was battering me."

"Unless you wish to press charges," Ron said covering his ears, "avoid expressing such sentiments in my presence. I'm an auror, remember?" Ginny looked down at her arm, up at her husband and then she shocked the heck out of her brother.

"I would like to press charges against Harry James Potter for battering me."

"Seriously?" Ron was gaping.

"Are you sure about this?" Zabini asked her, "I don't want you to open Pandora's box if you are just going to regret it in a few days."

"This is what I want," she assured her husband and then she turned to Ron, "I am sure you will have no problem finding witnesses."

"If this is what you want," Ron nodded.

"You know, Ron," Ginny sounded upset, "He might be your best friend, but I am your bloody sister. Blaise shouldn't have been the only one threatening Harry bloody Potter just now."

"Ginny, I—"

"Save it. Come on, Blaise," Ginny said turning on her heels and pulling her husband, "I rather deal with your mother."

"Oh, come on, Gin—"

"You!" shouted a very cross Theodore Nott as he made his way to Ron, "You are friends with my wife, right?"

"What now?" Ron sighed out exhausted and in serious need of some of the alcohol Harry had downed.

"Have you seen Luna?" Nott snapped, "She managed to escape the manor—"

"Excuse me?" Ron asked startled, "did you just admit to falsely imprisoning your wife? What is it with everyone today? I am an _a_ _uror_ , Nott."

"Don't be stupid, Weasley!" Nott really needed to work on his attitude, "I am not keeping her hostage, I am trying to keep away from harm until the useless lot of you _a_ _urors_ catch the band of—" A loud explosion cut the man's explanation short.

Cries of fear and despair rose in the air with such speed that Ron was reminded of the time the death eaters had attacked the Quidditch World Cup. People began running in all directions as the detail of aurors assigned to the party scrambled to get a hold of the situation.

"Luna!" scream Nott as he took off running in the direction of the blast. That man really was obsessed with his wife. _His wife!_

"Shite!" Ron shouted as he scanned the gardens trying to find the soft pink robes Daphne had been wearing. A flash of the color sent him flying to an edge of the garden. When he reached the hidden corner he found his wife crouching in a corner, holding onto one of the manor walls for dear life, as she was cornered by one of the figures that haunted her nightmares.

"No, please," Daphne sobbed desperately as she became even smaller, "please don't hurt me again."

"Step away from her!" Ron said pulling his wand out.

"Stay out of this Ronald Weasley," spoke an ominous voice from behind a mask. "This does not concern you."

"Like hell, it doesn't!" Ron said inching closer to where Daphne was, "This is my wife!"

"A pain of which I can relieve you," said the gravelly voice.

"Expeliarmus!" Ron shouted with force as the figure blocked his spell.

"You will have to do much better than that, Ronald Weasley," and with a flick of a wrist the voice added, "Bombarda!" Ron's handy shield stopped the attack easily as a vicious duel ensued. He wasn't sure how long the fight lasted, but he felt his magic draining. He needed to end this before he was out of strength.

"Daphne," he called to his wife, "send a distress signal." There was no answer so he risked a look at her. She was unresponsive, shaking with fear. "Daph, I need you to," he paused to block a particularly vicious hex, "send out red sparks!"

"I can't!" Daphne cried into her hands.

"Yes, you can," Ron said as he attacked the figure, "do it now, Daph!"

"I…" Daphne looked like she was about to go into shock.

"Come on, Daph!" he didn't want to push her, but he had no choice. It was either pushing her or dying there.

"O-Okay," Daphne said reaching into her robes, "Ron!" he called in distress, "I can't find my wand, Ron!"

"Bloody hell," he said as he shielded them for the millionth time, "HELP! SOMEONE HELP!"

"Help!" Daphne called out desperately "Anyone, please! Help!"

Ron was painfully aware he had only a few ounces of magic left in him, so he did the only thing he could do. Sending out the nastiest hex he could think of he dove to shield Daphne with his body from whatever attack came after.

"Ron!" Daphne cried. The last thing Ron felt before collapsing was Daphne circling her arms around his frame.

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"Not much of a protector is he?" Asked the masked figure conversationally.

"Just leave," Daphne pleaded, "leave us alone."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," the figure raised it's wand "Goodbye forever, Daphne Greengrass." Something inside of her snapped at hearing her old name. One second she was holding onto Ron and the next she had his wand in her hand.

"My name is Daphne _Weasley,_ " she said coming to a full stance, "and I refuse to die at your hands on my knees!"

"At least you recognize you are going to die," the figure said shooting a full-body bind at her, which she dodged.

"Not today," she said shooting a hex that would cause her attacker's skin to fill with painful boils. As the figure fell to the floor, she shot out red sparks like Ron had instructed.

"You, bitch," called the lump on the floor from behind the mask, "I will end you!"

"Like hell, you will," said a wizard as he rounded the corner, shooting hex after hex with practiced ease. The figure scrambled against Draco Malfoy's dueling prowess.

"You think you are so brave, don't you?" Draco shouted sending the figure flying in the air, "Hiding behind the same robes that struck fear into the magical hearts for decades!"

"Dirty death eater," cried the robe-clad person, "Avada Kedavra!"

"No!" shouted Daphne, fearing for her housemate's life.

"Oh," Draco did what looked like a demented happy dance as he deflected the unforgivable with ease, "is _that_ how you want to play?"

"Draco, don't!" Daphne warned knowing of the wizard's dark past, "Don't let them goad you into doing something stupid. You cannot risk it. Think of your mother!"

"It is in very few circumstances," Draco said ignoring Daphne in favor of the unknown figure, "that wizarding law allows citizens to use an Unforgivable. Self-defense against a killing course being one of them," the blonde informed as he lifted his wand, "Cr—"

"Think of Hermione, Draco!" The blonde seemed to snap out of some strange trance at the mention of his wife's name. "Be the man she needs you to be, Draco."

"I…" Draco shook his head and shouted, "Incarcerus!" just as a detail of aurors rounded the corner.

"Stop right there, Malfoy!" call one of them as another ordered him to back away from Daphne and Ron.

"Draco saved me," Daphne called dropping Ron's wand to hold her unconscious husband. "Ron fought that… that monster tooth and nail for a long time. He drained all his power and passed out."

"Are you sure?" called a female auror.

"Yes," Daphne said gently rocking her husband's body, "If Draco hadn't found us I would have… That person, that _thing_ , tried to Avada Draco."

"Is this true Mr. Malfoy?" asked the same female auror as Draco nodded. "Very well, Finnegan take the unsub into custody."

"Will do," said their old schoolmate as he managed to levitate the body without causing an explosion.

"Let's go inside so I can take your statements, shall we?" said the witch calmly. "Your wife is very concerned, Mr. Malfoy, she was the one that alerted us to your absence."

"What about Auror Weasley?" Daphne could tell Draco wanted to bolt to his wife's side, so she quickly got to her feet and hugged him into shock.

"Thank you, Draco," Daphne said softly, "you really did save me."

"If you hadn't…" Draco whispered.

"What matters is that you didn't," she said before pulling away. "Go to your wife, I will care for my Ron." He nodded and moved in the direction of the manor.

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"Where the bloody hell have you been?" called Hermione as tears began falling from her eyes at an alarming rate.

"Hermione, I…" he couldn't finish his sentence because his witch's body effectively knocked the wind out of his lungs.

" _Never_ do that again!" Hermione said as she held onto him with all her might. The burn of their joint magic reminded him what could have happened if that killing curse had gotten to him. " _Promise_ _me!_ "

"You want me to promise not to safe Weasley and Daphne ever again?"

"What?" she yelled, "Is Ron alright? Is Daphne hurt? Since neither was here for headcount we assumed they had left after Harry—"

"They are fine, Ms. Granger-Malfoy," the female auror explained. "We have taken their attacker into custody and are readying to take your husband's statement. With Mr. Malfoy's help, we will be able to put him or her in Azkaban for a long time."

"Really?" Hermione asked smiling big at him, "You saved Ron?"

"Don't make me regret it now…" Draco said uncomfortably. "You are going to have to let go of me, Hermione. The statement is not going to give itself."

"I wish to come along," Hermione said holding onto him even more fiercely.

"As you wish, Madam." The auror's willingness to accommodate his famous wife was unsurprising. "Is there anywhere where we can take the statement, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Follow me," he said leading his wife and the detective up the main staircase. Once they were on the third floor, he took the necessary series of sharp turns that would take him to his old chambers. "After you," he said once they had reached the correct door.

"Where are we?" asked Hermione looking around curiously.

"This is one of the many rooms of our wing in the manor," Draco shrugged nonchalantly, "Hermione still has not gotten to see the entirety of our home." He said to the auror in hope of providing an explanation to Hermione being lost while inconspicuously instructing Hermione not to disclose the fact that they did not reside there.

"Understandable," the auror said looking around the spacious room, "I would probably need a map to navigate this place. Shall we start?"

"Absolutely," he said taking a seat on a large couch that took a significant portion of his chambers' sitting room. The auror pulled out an enchanted quill and began speaking.

"Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy Black's statement regarding the attack on auror Ronald Weasley Prewett and Daphne Regina Weasley, née Greengrass, is being taken by auror Ekaterina Burckhardt," the quill flew as it struggled to keep up with the auror's steadfast stream of words. "Mr. Malfoy, can you describe the incident?"

"I was at the celebration with my wife, Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy, and my mother, Narcissa Black Malfoy, when we heard a loud explosion. We rushed to help our guests to safety, amending the wards to the physical manor to allow through only those in the guest list."

"What happened next?" auror Burckhardt pressed.

"Hermione, my mother and I began checking everyone with the help of a few healers that were in attendance. I had been helping Undersecretary Acton's wife, Amanda is her name, with a twisted ankle when I saw red sparks coming from a particularly hidden part of the garden. I ran out of the room, desperate to reach whoever might be in danger."

"Why didn't you take someone with you or send the aurors to investigate?"

"Do you really wish to know?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"I asked for a reason, Mr. Malfoy," the auror said patiently.

"Do you truly think I, a former death eater, could get anyone to go to the most hidden part of my garden, alone, to investigate a distress signal only I saw?"

"You could have told your wife to accompany you," she pointed out.

"I would rather have to withstand a thousand Crucios than have Hermione anywhere near that," he snapped seriously. "A good thing, too, since that beast actually tried to Avada me!"

"What?" Hermione shouted loosing her cool demeanor at once.

"When I reached the Weasleys, the husband was passed out from magical exhaustion. He had to defend both himself and his petrified wife. Daphne was… unable… to do more than cast the signal I saw."

"Godric," Hermione worried at her bottom lip, "poor Daphne."

"Ms. Granger-Malfoy," the auror interrupted her not unkindly, "I am going to have to ask you not to speak. The quill will get confused otherwise."

"Of course," Hermione nodded with a blush.

"Continue, Mr. Malfoy," the auror instructed.

"As I said, Daphne wasn't fairing too well," Draco sighed, "the, what did you call it? Unsub?"

"Yes," the auror nodded, "it means unknown subject."

"Right," Draco continued, "the hooded figure was threatening to kill Daphne. I began attacking the… unsub… in rapid succession. When it became obvious I was going to best him or her, the unsub casted a killing curse." It was then that Hermione punched his shoulder. " _Which I dodged without even growing winded._ " Hermione didn't look appeased in the least, but she kept quiet.

"What happened next?"

"I…" Draco looked at Hermione for a microsecond, "I informed my attacker that wizarding law allows citizens to use an Unforgivable as a defense strategy when confronted with another Unforgivable."

"Expeliarmus!" called auror Burckhardt effectively disarming Draco.

"What do you think you are doing?" Hermione asked.

"I am only checking your husband's wand, Ms. Granger-Malfoy," said the auror as she casted a few spells on Draco's wand.

"You could have asked him for it!"

"I am sorry, Ms. Granger-Malfoy," the auror sounded truly sorry, "it's just protocol. Here you go, Mr. Malfoy."

"Thank you," Draco said taking his wand back with a bit of annoyance.

"Let the record reflect that Mr. Draco Malfoy's wand shows no sign of having cast an unforgivable curse, in self-defense or otherwise, since the war's end." With a nod, the woman asked him to continue.

"He would have been perfectly within his right to cast it," Hermione snapped, "let your record reflect _that_!"

"Of course, Ms. Granger-Malfoy."

"I was going to," Draco admitted as his cheeks filled with shame, "but then Daphne said something about Hermione and I ended up casting an Incarcerus instead. It was then that the team of aurors found the lot of us."

"Very well," said the auror sending the quill away. "Please imprint the document with your magic, Mr. Malfoy."

"Hermione can I borrow your wand?" he requested, reluctant to pull out his wand in the presence of the auror.

"I'm afraid the parchment will only be marked by your wand," the auror explained.

"Then there is no harm in trying with my wife's, is there?"

"I guess not," the auror sighed, "Ms. Granger-Malfoy, do you mind?" Hermione pulled out her wand and offered it to him. With a flourish, Draco's signature appeared.

"That's not possible!" The auror said taking the parchment and inspecting it closely.

"The wonders of marriage," Hermione sassed.

"If you say so," the auror said eying them closely. "Might I suggest you refrain from showing your close connection to anyone else?"

"Even aurors?" Hermione asked shocked.

"I have a sneaking suspicion our department is compromised," she nodded. "Please take care of yourselves."

"We will," Draco said as he signaled the end of the meeting by standing. "Thank you, auror Burckhardt."

"Good day," she said as she prepared to exit the room and stopped, "Do you think you could show me the way?"

"Nym," the elf was there in a second, "please show the good auror to her team."

"Yes, Master," the elf nodded as she began ushering the woman out. "Everything else is ready, Master."

"Wonderful," he nodded just before the door closed behind the odd pair.

"I could kill you, you know?" Hermione said angrily, "Going off on your own to danger, risking your life, nearly getting killed!"

"I must have momentarily caught the same virus you've had most of your life," Draco teased, "because that sounds an awful lot like your Hogwarts years."

"I was not soul bonded to anyone then!" She shouted in despair.

"I'm sorry for putting your life in danger," he admitted ashamed. "I only recalled after the fact."

"This is not about _my_ life, you idiot!" Hermione was really worked up, "It's about yours. I wouldn't have known what hit me, but you…"

"Hey," he said holding onto her as she began crying, "We are safe. I'm here and in one piece. We are perfectly fine."

"Just the thought of you—"

"Your worry is the highest praise, love," Draco shushed her as hid her face in his chest.

"Draco?"

"Yes, love?" he whispered back.

"Can we go on our holiday, already?" Hermione asked sounding slightly desperate.

"As you wish," he said pulling out a piece of cloth from his pocket. "The portkey is inside," he explained.

"On three?" she asked as he nodded. "One, Two, Three!" the only indication of their departure was the ruffling of a few pieces of parchment.

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 _If you want to see visuals on what inspires the looks, homes, and sights in this story, then you need to check out my Instagram at kikistonewrites._

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 _Dear Readers,_

 _You can thank Southwest Airlines for my quick delivery of this really long and eventful chapter. I have spent the entire day between airports and planes, writing my little heart away. This chapter goes out to my friends, C and Kaylee, who keep me going with their support and good vibes. I would also like to send a big shout out to fellow authors CJRed and HollyBrianne! Not only are they among my favorite authors, but they also read my story (yeah, I know, I can now die happy!). Petulantpages, PH13, GeekMom13 thank you for the laughs and constant support._

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone._


	31. The Human Condition

_Song of Choice for Today's Chapter:_

 _Maurerische Trauermusic in C Minor, K. 477 (Masonic Funeral Music) by Mozart_

 _Creep (Cover) by Kina Grannis_

 _Le Luci Della Città by Coez_

 _Countdowns by Sleeping At Last_

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It was not a secret that being the Minister for Magic was a daunting task that could drive a wizard, even a powerful and competent one, to an early grave. Kingsley Shacklebolt, like all his predecessors before him, had been brimming with hubris when he had silently promised himself that would _not_ be his future after he had won the election. In retrospect —he could admit it to himself in the privacy of his mind— it had been quite stupid of him to think that he could simply take and miraculously solve all of the war's aftermath and the grievances that the provisional Minister appointed by the Wizengamot had been unable to solve in the five years following the demise of the psychopathic bastard that had destroyed the British Wizarding World.

"Imbecile," he chided himself as he tiredly made his way down the massive staircase that was the focal point of the Minister's Manor. It was the middle of the day but he had not bothered leaving his chambers at all. In fact, the only reason why he was out of bed at all was his need to treat himself to a neat firewhisky that was much overdue. Drink in hand he made his way to the library of the manor that doubled as the Minister's home office, letting his body slump onto his leather chair once behind the ancient desk that had inspired the crafters of the Resolute Desk. Shacklebolt remembered the first time he'd sat behind this exact desk, and how dramatically different reality seemed them.

At the time, he had been eager and anxious to get to work. Determined to make change and improve the wizarding way of life for all the citizens who had placed their faith in him. It seemed like years had passed, but in reality he had occupied the seat for only seven month.

"Seven eternal, ungrateful, cursed months," he sighed.

It had been on this exact desk that he had first researched the ancient marriage decrees and here that he had crafted the plans for this new one. No one, not even his second in command knew the why behind the decree. Only these four walls were privy to his reasoning for the present marriage decree, and if he would do all in his power to keep it so. If the real reason were to become known he would pass onto be regarded by history with unkind eyes. Who would respect a Minister who had consciously and deliberately chosen to create a social commotion to distract the general population from the actual workings of government? Of course, the marriage decree hadn't been the only upheaval he could have caused, but it was doubtlessly the most useful. It was quite simple, really. There was a deep-seated hate that kept wizarding society fractured into factions and the population numbers had take a momentous hit that, if not promptly rectified, could lead to eventual extinction of the British Wizarding World. Add to that the fact that the government was constantly being scrutinized and sabotage by the old guard every time it tried to pass legislation that would help the reconstruction efforts and the marriage decree became a gift sent to the Minister by Merlin himself.

"Many evils, one spell," he mumbled to himself as he sipped the rich liquor, and then bitterly he added, "but like everything in life, the rot is inevitable."

At no point, during those long nights of research and planning and careful calculation, did Kingsley Shacklebolt factor in the real value of social resentment. He'd thought the people had had enough of death and destruction, and that had been the fatal flaw of his plan. Now the damned decree was giving him far more work than help. The damned attacks had tripled, the aurors were stretched too thin, and the press was relentless. As if that was not enough, the community of the solely magically inclined —community to which belonged— hated the thing and, instead of focusing on the fire in their living rooms, their eyes were carefully trained on his every action. Their damned leader, Narcissa Malfoy, was already planning on having him replaced and it hadn't even been a year since the election, for Hufflepuff's sake! The only reason why he hadn't actually given them a piece of his mind was because he actually agreed with the person they had chosen to replace him.

"Hermione is bright and driven," he told himself not for the first time that week, "she has a good heart and will be able to do more than I can even dream." He cursed the red tape that prevented him from being the Minister that he had always hope to be, that he had promised the people to be. He couldn't help but feel a bit bitter by the fact that his successor would, by default, have a better future but he always pushed himself to look beyond his jealousy. "She will do so much," he reminded himself with a nod, "but only when my legacy is secured, and I am ready to step down. In the meantime I am Minister and there is peace."

The universe, having heard him, decided to challenge him yet again by sending an emergency patronus flying in his direction. It had no shape, but that didn't prevent him from recognizing the voice of the wizard who had sent it his way.

"There has been an attack on the wedding celebration being hosted by the solely magically inclined community," the head of the DMLE said. "We were able to detain one of the perpetrators of the attack, he is Ministry custody. As per your orders, the identity of the criminal has not been determined in your absence. We await for you for the big revealing."

"Bloody hell," he said to himself as he rushed to change into his formal robes. Making sure his wizard's hat sat correctly on his head he rushed back down, and in the general direction the floo. He was about to throw the powder into the pit when a sudden series of thoughts sneaked into his brain. This could be good for him. He could use capture to create good publicity for his regime, Merlin knew public confidence was lacking… "Or maybe I can have this insurgent give up its friends. It won't be simple and it will require a very specific set of questioning skills that are not permitted in Britain… We will have to say that the wizard escaped so that no young, hotshot lawyer looking for his or her five minutes in the limelight can inquire as to wizarding rights violations; and it will take longer, the public will be upset, but then again wizards escape custody all the time, right? Yes, yes; you are a genius Shacklebolt!"

"Office for the Minister for Magic!" he dropped the powder and jump in.

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As soon as the floor materialized under their feet she let go of him as if any contact with his person was particularly foul. The apartment that only hours before had been bustling with activity and noise was now eerily quiet; it was as if it, too, realized the raven-haired witch could not handle anything that added to her inner turmoil. In a way, it was as if all the air in the room had disappeared and they were both suffocating where they stood.

"Pans—" he tried to speak, but she immediately hushed him bringing back the tense silence. She wasn't sure how long they remained as they were, she facing the empty apartment and he staring at her back; the only indication of time passing was the unbearable pain coursing through her feet and pinched toes. Not even magic could make heels bearable. Unlocking her knees she allowed her numb legs to move as she stepped out of her prison. "Please—" he tried again.

"No," she said with a calm she didn't feel. "You do not get to speak right now, and you must certainly do not get to make requests of any kind." She wiggled her toes to try to get much-needed blood to flow into them as she cracked her neck. "I don't even know where to begin." With the help of her wand she apparated a bottle of the same reserve liquor she kept around for when her mother's death anniversary reared its ugly head. Taking a large gulp straight from the bottle, she went to take a seat on the sofa facing him. "This is how we are going to do this," she said before taking another substantial swallow, "I speak, you listen. You only get to speak if I ask you a question. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Throughout my life I have dealt with a lot of cocked up stuff," she laughed without any humor. "I came to terms with having killed my mother, with my father's hate and neglect, with being called pug-faced and other insults that bloody hindered my ability to love myself as an adolescent, with being called a cow and a cunt. The list truly goes on and on, but I never thought I would be faced with having to overcome public ridicule caused by my husband. Especially not because of the woman over whom, without being asked or prompted, he chose me."

"Pansy, I'm sorry," he sounded pained.

"Shut up!" she snapped, "You say you are sorry but I don't think you are sorry at all. I think that the only thing you are sorry about is that Blaise's wife didn't just run into your bloody arms!" She took another gulp of the burning liquid, "how dare you, Harry Potter? How dare you make a fool of me? How dare you humiliate me in front of every person I have ever met?"

"I wasn't trying to humiliate you—"

"Seriously? That's your response?" she cried outraged, "Please explain to me how are you doing anything other than nodding at her in acknowledgment results in my not being humiliated?"

"It wasn't about you, Pansy," Harry snapped. "Not everything is about you, you know?"

"That's my line, _husband_ ," her voice dripped with venom. "Did you, at any point, think about anyone other than yourself? Did it ever occur to you that she might not want anything to do with you, as was the case? Did you stop to think for a second about her happiness? Her marriage? Hell, _our_ marriage? Did I, at any point, count in your deliberation? No?" he quietly stared at the floor, "What about everyone else, you selfish prick? Did you ever stop to think that the people there today needed a break from reality? Just a day in which we get to pretend like everything is fine? Huh?"

"No."

"Of course you didn't!" she accused disgusted. "Everything is about you! I only asked one thing of you, Harry, a simple request. Do you remember what it was?"

"Yes," he admitted sourly.

"It must have been truly unreasonable, since you couldn't find it in you to listen, right?" her tone was derisive and bitter as he negated with his head, "It wasn't?" he negated again, "let's hear it, then! What was the only thing I have _ever_ truly asked of you, husband?"

"You asked me to keep a respectful distance from her, and not to stray." There was no emotion in his voice as he spoke.

"FUCK!" the anger broke her voice as she crossed the room and started bashing at his chest. "You bastard! How could you? All I've done was trying to be there for you and you repay me by making me look a fool! You self-centered, insensitive, and ungrateful prick!"

"Shhhh," he said putting his arms around her as the fight left her and the tears took over. "I'm sorry, Pansy. Don't cry. I'm so sorry." She allowed herself a second of his comfort, just one. Then, taking a deep breath to steady her heart, she escaped his warmth. "Get your bloody hands off me. You do not get to say sorry, hug me, and erase what you did!"

"Where are you going?" he asked as she took off and up the stairs at an aggressive pace, "Pansy we need to talk about this."

"There is nothing to talk about, Potter," she said as she slammed the door to their room open. "Don't you get it?" she laughed maniacally, "There is nothing that you can say that will result in me being in your disgusting presence a single moment more."

"Pansy," he said with eyes wide as plates, "you can't be serious. You really are going to leave?"

"Yes, I am leaving; in fact, I don't know if I'll be coming back." Each second that passed more and more things flew off from their resting place and into a bag that had appeared wide open on the bed with a flick of her wand.

"You can't leave, Pansy," he sounded as if he was trying to reason with her, which only made her angrier. She was _not_ the irrational prick in the room, _he was_!

"Watch me!" she said intentionally hitting him over the head with a flying book.

"Pansy the decree—"

"Can kiss my aristocratic arse!" she finished for him manually zipping her baggage close. "The damned paper commanded we marry, we did, and there is no escaping that," she said stepping into a pair of flats and a floating coat, "it did not, however, say that I have to live with you, or that I ever have to see your bloody face again."

"It might not be spelled out but there are expectations, Pansy," he said following her down the stairs to the floo. "The Ministry expects certain couples to guide by example and you know it."

"Now you worry about setting a good example?" she wanted to Crucio him until he lost his sanity or she lost whatever remained of hers. "You should have fucking thought about expectations and your precious image before you went and publically attacked another wizard's wife!"

"I didn't attack her," he defended.

"You didn't attack—" she cut her outrage off and stepped into the floo, "I sincerely hope for your bloody sake that Blaise sees it that way because, otherwise, you will be due in wizardly court soon."

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To a place where you are not bloody welcome." Angrily dropping the powder she shouted her destination, "Narcissa Malfoy's private quarters!"

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"Pansy?" Narcissa asked in honest surprise, "What are you doing here darling?" Now that all the guests had gone home and she had managed to get rid of the myriad of aurors that had reached the scene conveniently too late, she had hoped to take a relaxing bath and call it a night. However, one look at her goddaughter's face and she knew there would be no chance of that.

"I am actively avoiding going to prison by keeping my distance from my scum of a husband, is what I'm doing here."

"Ah, yes," Narcissa has almost forgotten about the scene the Potter idiot had caused right before all hell broke loose. Making a mental note to reach out to the press to control the many distorted versions of the truth that would be going to print at dawn, she went to her desk and rung the small silver bell with encrusted emeralds.

"Mistress called?" Nym asked, eager as ever to help her. Narcissa had never been particularly close to any of the Manor's elves after her own nanny-elf had died of old age, but had she been asked to pick one and forsake the rest she would have chosen the chatterbox of an elf at her feet.

"Nym, you know Pansy," Narcissa gestured at the raven-haired witch.

"Miss Pansy," Nym curtsied in greeting, "Nym is most happy to see Miss."

"Hi, Nym," Pansy smiled, "would you mind terribly if Meep and I came to stay here with you for a few days?" the elf gasped in enjoyment but quickly reined in her excitement to look over at her mistress.

"This will always be your home, princess, you know that," the older witch assured her, "this is especially true when it comes to preventing you from murdering your husband. Salazar knows that it was your mother who kept me from killing Lucius in our early days."

"Really?" Pansy was always eager to learn more about her mother. Cordelia Burke, by everyone's account, had been a wonderful woman gone too soon.

"Yes, I was most grateful then," Narcissa said as she felt her smile turn bitter. "After what I found out today, however, I am fairly certain I no longer feel the same."

"Pardon?"

"I found out something about Draco," Pansy could tell the woman's word of choice was careful and deliberate, "something that has made me most upset, really. I am suffering of a certain… condition… thanks to Lucius, may he rot in the fiery pits of Hades."

"I am not quite sure I follow, Auntie," Pansy's concern shone through her voice, "are you okay? Is Draco okay?"

"No, and no," Narcissa sucked on her teeth annoyed, "but there is nothing to be done about it, and it is best if we avoid talking about it."

"What do you mean, aunt Cissy?"

"Trust me, my dear," the blonde woman said reaching out for the young witch's hands, "as soon as I can tell you, I will. Trust me to know when I can tell you about it."

"Fine," Pansy sounded as if she didn't like one bit being in the dark as to what was happening with the closest thing she had to family, but she knew not to fight her on this type of thing. Narcissa had never led her astray, and they both knew that was the only reason the tenacious witch relented. "Maybe it's better this way, I don't think I can handle much more right now."

"Pansy," Narcissa said aware that the elf was still there, "why don't you call Meep so that she and Nym can get on with their responsibilities and finish early?"

"Oh, yes, duh," Pansy said making Narcissa frown at the obnoxious exclamation, "Meep!"

"Yes, Mistress?" Meep most have been in the process of doing something because she was currently simultaneously levitating multiple fabric samples.

"Meep we will be residing at Malfoy Manor until further notice," Pansy announced quickly, "the Grimmauld project is to come to a complete stop until I say otherwise."

"Yes, Mistress," the elf nodded, making all the swatches disappear at once.

"You are to go with Nym and be at the service of this manor for now. Can you do that for me?" Pansy sounded pleading and stern at the same time and it was striking just how very Pansy that description was: softness and roughness in perfect balance.

"What about Master Po—"

"That would be all, Meep," Narcissa cut the elf off before she could inadvertently send her goddaughter into a downward spiral of hate and anger. "Please, make yourself at home."

"Yes, Madam Narcissa," Meep bowed.

"Once you are done for the day, please feel free to take your leave," Narcissa called after the two short retreating figures.

"Yes, Mistress," assured Nym.

As soon as they were alone Pansy's face scrunched up and vicious tears rolled down from her sweet eyes. Narcissa closed her eyes and called on her years of grooming and training to keep from storming in on Potter and killing the fool.

"Pansy," Narcissa whispered softly as she embraced her as she'd done many times over the years. These instances of loving support were the closest they both got to the mother-daughter moments they had wished for over the years. As much as Narcissa loved Draco, the relationship she could have with him was nothing like the one she had with her goddaughter… as for Pansy, this was the only parental love she had ever gotten and would ever get even though her soul was so constantly starved for affection and approval. Narcissa was certain that was in great big part why Pansy was so hurt by the events that has transpired earlier. "Shhhh, princess, don't cry," it was as if she had asked the exact opposite of the witch, for instead of stopping, she let out a pained gasp.

"I-I'm s-sorry-y," she cried softly. "I'm just so hurt, I can't belief he… and in front of so many… I just thought we were..."

"Friends?" Narcissa supplied, "Getting along? Partners?" Pansy nodded in despair as her black tears left dirty trails in their wake. "Pansy…" Narcissa admonished, "Why do you insist on letting undeserving people into your heart?"

"I just thought that he…" she let out a stuttering sigh and shrugged, "How could he do this? He's supposed to be the good guy."

"All these years of telling you kids that there are no good or bad people, just people and their circumstances…" Narcissa lamented more to herself than to Pansy, "Have all my warnings been for nothing my dear?" Pansy shrugged looking at her feet. "Don't feel bad," Narcissa said holding her tighter, "I don't actually need an answer to that. This is just how things go between parents and their children. I warn you, you try your best to heed my advice, and then we end up here."

"How come it's always me doing the crying and not Draco, then?"

"Draco is more of a whiner," Narcissa laughed without humor and Pansy joined her for a bit.

"We were supposed to get through this mess together," her voice broke. "I did my best, and maybe I could have done more or—"

"No," the older witch stopped her. "I know you, Pansy. You gave your marriage your all from day one, you weren't picky or demanding, you were the ideal wife. You did everything you were ever told to do to keep your husband happy."

"I did," she nodded.

"He is too far gone, Pansy, and that is not your fault or your responsibility," Narcissa assured her. "No one can help him other than himself. You could give him every tool he might ever need to get his life in order, but you cannot fix him. He needs to fix himself."

"And what if he doesn't?" Narcissa inhaled violently at that possibility.

"I hope with all my heart that is not the case, princess," Narcissa admitted. "At the end of the day, for better or worse, you are married to this man and in our society that is permanent and final."

"Forget about society, aunt Cissy," Pansy said disgusted, "we could move and join another wizarding society in a different country. That is not the problem and you know it. Lucius has been gone for years now and, even though we all hate him and do not wish for him to ever come back from the hell he is in, you still suffer from it. My biggest fear."

"Loneliness," it wasn't a question, but a statement.

"I remember the day that Blaise was finally able to put my fear into words," Pansy nodded. "We had been talking about his mother and her ridiculous marriage compulsion at the funeral of husband number—"

"That woman," Narcissa rolled her eyes.

"The point is that Theo asked him why he thought his mother kept getting remarried. After all, she was rich many times over, so what was the purpose?" she hiccupped, "And then Blaise said the simplest, most obvious statement ever made. It was so simple and yet so devastating. He said, ' _È un mondo fatto per due_ , Theo'. That," she said angrily, "that is the reason why Bellissa insists on marrying time and time again, why people all over the world screw up their lives and make stupid decisions, why I wake up in a panic at night sometimes. The world is made for two and I am by myself."

"Shhhh, princess," was all Narcissa could say to her. After all, wasn't that the reason she always yearned for the rising sun?

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"Are you mad at me?" Ginevra's voice was nothing more than a whisper that snuck via the cracked door. She had decided to moved into his room, leaving her previous chambers to be some sort of quidditch tribute room. He could not say he minded or regretted either decision.

"Pardon?" Blaise stared at her and, not for the first time in their marriage, wondered just how exactly it was that women reached the conclusions they reached. "What could possibly make you think I am mad at you?" he said taking off his dragon leather shoes off and going to join her by the door. "Please, walk me through the thought process."

"I just…" Ginevra's said standing straighter, a reflex from her many years of living with her brothers. He knew they loved her, but those idiots could be quite belittling at times. "You just seemed upset."

"That's because I am," Blaise said calmly as he reached out to gently pull her into the room by her shoulders, "I am not quite certain what it is that is keeping me from storming over to Pansy's and permanently ridding this earth of that manhandling prick. What I don't understand is how you get from there to me being upset at _you_."

"It's my fault—"

"No." He cut her off. He was being rude but he refused to let her make crazy assumptions just to be mindful of his manners. "You did nothing. He made a scene; he put his hands on you. He is at fault not you."

"Okay," she nodded as if trying to convince herself that he was right.

"I will make a lot of mistakes throughout this marriage, Ginevra," he told her honestly. "I will say and do the wrong things, I will spoil you too much; and if we have children they will be even worse than I was in school because I will be terrible at saying no. Salazar forgive me, but I might even get complacent and comfortable in this marriage and at times not do what it takes to remind you every day that we are lucky to have each other. I am not perfect," he assured her and laughed, "no matter how much I like to pretend I am."

"So you _do_ know you are not the second-coming of Merlin," she teased.

"Please," he played along, "like that old toad could keep up with my magical genius!"

"Idiot," she said making them both laugh, causing them to finally release some of the tension that had been building up all day.

"My point is," Blaise stated, "I am not perfect, Ginevra, and so I ask you to be patient and to forgive me."

"I ask the same," she added and he nodded.

"But if I ever blame _you_ for another fool's actions, actions that they carry out of their own accord and due to no prompting or provocation on your part," an angry sneer took over his features, "I demand that you do not tolerate my buffoonery and that you unleash the nastier end of your vicious savagery on me." Her eyes grew wide with shock and then a glint of Weasley mischief glossed over her gorgeous brown eyes.

"I so solemnly swear," she promised, getting on the tips of her toes to plant a burning kiss on his starving mouth.

"Before we get carried away," Blaise said calling on mystical powers of self-control he didn't know he had to push away from her electric lips. "Are you okay now? I can see how today could have been traumatizing for you."

"I am not traumatized," she rolled her eyes at him, "but I was very upset... I guess the word would be indignant. How dare he, you know? After everything he did to me, all the hurt he put me through… He thinks he can just come and grab me? Like I am a thing, a thing that he can take…"

"My sweet," Blaise cautioned, "if you want me to not go to prison for killing him, you might want to get to your point sooner rather than later."

The only thing that was keeping him calm at that point was the electric current that was burning where their skin met. Looking at the point of contact between them he stared in wonder at the striking contrast in tone and marveled at what their children would look like when they eventually joined the land of the living.

"Blaise?" Ginevra interrupted his thoughts. "Did you hear a word I said?"

"Nothing after the enraging part," he admitted earning himself an annoyed smack to the chest. "Please, tell me what you said, Ginevra."

"I was angry before when I said I wanted to press charges against him," she admitted and he nodded. "Now that I am calmer, though…"

"Yes?"

"I still feel the exact same way," she admitted with a shrug. "I don't care if he is the Boy Who Lived, The Savior, or whatever. There is nothing a wizard can do that gives him the right to put his hands on an unwilling witch. That is not okay. What if you had not been there? What if it had happened at a bar or in a deserted street? If there had been no witnesses, would they have believed me if I pressed charges?"

"Are you sure you want to go against the person you thought you were going to share your life with?" He hated those words more than he would ever be able to convey.

"The person that I thought I was going to marry is not him; the person I thought I knew would have never put his hands on a woman like that, he wouldn't have been drunk out of his mind in public, and he certainly wouldn't have chosen any other witch over me." Her words were as final as a judge's gavel.

"He is an idiot, and deserves whatever fine or penalty the court assesses him for this," Blaise assured her, "but I have to say, I do not, nor will I ever, lament that fool's choices. In a crazy way, his poor choices brought me to you," He brought their forehead together and their eyes closed as they both simply existed in that huge room, inside a gaudy apartment, a part of his life of excess that had only just begun to have meaning.

"Don't ever leave me," she whispered desperately.

"Only in death," he promised fiercely as they fell onto the floor in a heap of limbs and desperately hungry kisses, "and maybe even then."

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 _Dear Readers,_

 _I am not even sure you are still reading, but if you are I hope you are not disappointed with this chapter. So much has happened since I last published, and I think it is evinced in the way I write and in the music I chose. That is not to say that this story is going to be depressing moving forward, but rather that over my hiatus I have gotten to see and experience a lot of emotions. I have done a lot of growing and even more suffering. This journey I call law school has been the most challenging and painful one I have gone on in a very long while; and half the time I feel it might not even be worth it because I have yet to reap the benefits of it. In any case, apologies for the long hiatus. If you feel like it has been a long wait and too short a chapter, know I already have 3,000 words of the next chapter. It just felt wrong to have all these raw human emotions next to the (Granger-)Malfoy's holiday. How discombobulating would that have been? Just, no. I can't wait to hear what you have to say. As always, you can find me readily available for questions and badgering on Instagram, kikistonewrites. I check this account constantly. On that same vein, thank you to those that answered the post on whether I should update at all. It made me feel better knowing that at least 18 people would be reading this update. With nothing more to add…_

 _All the love,_

 _Kikistone._


	32. Happily Married

_Song of Choice for Today's Chapter:_

 _Million Dollar Man_ by Lana Del Rey

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When her stomach finally settled from the wild ride that was portkeying she took a deep breath and quickly assessed her surroundings, hoping for a clue that would let on as to where she was. The remnants of the war always had a way of shining through in the most peculiar ways; one second she had been eager to leave on her holiday and the next she was fully alert, actively cataloging every face that rushed by her and assessing whether they posed a threat.

"Alright there?" Draco's voice acted like a calming drought, bringing an end to the paranoid fit she would never admit to having.

"I," her voice sounded slightly faint, an unfortunate side effect of despising magical travel. Clearing her throat she answered, "I am perfectly fine, thank you."

"Are you sure?" She batted his concern away good-naturedly as she tried to determine their location.

"Where are we?" The active hustle and bustle all around them and the sleepy faces suggested that, wherever they were, it was still morning; and because witches and wizards were running to and fro armed with trays holding several disposable cups while wearing smart robes she knew she was in an office of some sort. "Is this where you are taking me for our holiday?" she sassed taking in a big seal engraved onto the floor several feet away, "A Ministry?"

"Ha-ha," Draco rolled his eyes, "you know if you were half as funny as you think you are—" before he could finish digging himself an early grave, Draco was interrupted by a girlish gasp of excitement originating from a witch that rapidly made her way toward him. Hermione's gifted brain somehow processed the scene before her—which appeared to be taking place in slow motion—at breakneck speed. In the time that it took Draco to turn in the direction of the disturbance, Hermione reached four conclusions. First: the screeching owl turned human that was rapidly approaching her husband was the first in her bloodline to be a witch. This, she knew from her cream color robes, which, though gorgeous, were too tightly fitted and showed off a bit too much of her mile-long legs. Whatever doubt she might have had, was cleared away quickly when, upon closer examination, she noticed that the woman's face was covered in product, but not the magical kind.

"Draco!" she greeted the platinum blonde with a thousand-watt, perfectly straight smile and an overly friendly high-pitch tone that automatically grated on Hermione's nerves "What an absolute pleasure bumping into you on this fine day". Second: the woman, who was now ogling Draco as if he was an enticing piece of meat, was American; the obnoxious kind of American that would have made Narcissa Malfoy actually roll her eyes had she been within a hundred mile radius of the woman.

"Ms. Anderson," Draco nodded as—in a sly move which would have been imperceptible to anyone not regularly exposed to the Malfoy poise—he shifted his body just so, making it impossible for the witch's manicured hand to reach his shoulder.

"Always so formal! I have told you a million times to call me Ashley." Third: the witch, given the chance, would unashamedly jump at an opportunity to bed Draco.

"British men are ever proper, I am afraid," Hermione said using the soothing, pompous tone her mother in law used when she was forced to interact with the uncouth. "Draco more so than most."

"Oh," the witch, who had not taken notice of Hermione's existence until that moment, froze her painful-looking smile in place. "And who would this be, Draco?" The possessive and familiar way in which the woman continued to say Draco's name was really what solidified her fourth and final realization: Hermione was one jealous, jealous wife.

"Yes, Draco, won't you introduce me?" Hermione deliberately stepped into the wizard's personal space and eliminated any distance between the two. She smiled with unbridled satisfaction as her husband's arm snaked around her waist possessively.

"Apologies," Draco sounded entertained. "Hermione, this is Ms. Anderson, she works in magical immigration services here at MACUSA. Ms. Anderson, this is my wife."

"Hermione Granger-Malfoy," she reaches out her hand with a bone-chilling smile, "how do you do?"

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"Wife," Draco began. For someone who was usually perfectly composed, the Malfoy heir seemed to be having a tough time getting his smirk under control.

"Husband," she answered calmly as she took her eyes away from the lifts to give the fetching man her full attention. During their encounter with that dreadful Anderson witch, Hermione had been made aware that Draco—due to his status as a former death eater—was obligated to do additional immigration steps whenever he traveled. The process, he had informed her, was all the more annoying when entering America.

"Was it necessary to insinuate to her that she reminded you of the reporter you once kept captive in a jar?" His eyes danced with amusement over her cat-that-ate-the-canary smile.

"She wants you, Draco," Hermione's tone was almost conversational.

"She does," he conceded with a nod. "But it takes two to tango, Hermione, and the last time I was in her presence—before I had even decided to return to England—I made it known I was not interested."

"And yet she acts like a prepubescent girl around you," she deadpanned.

"I was perfectly clear," he laughed under his breath, "but even if I had not been, you sure tore any hope she might have had to microscopic pieces today. Between the public display of affection and your terrifying passing remarks about your years at Hogwarts, you had her running for the hills." As an afterthought, he added, "Were you really responsible for Edgecombe's disfigurement?"

"Indeed," the fact that she was unapologetic, even after all this time, caused Draco to let out a low whistle of appreciation. "As for Ms. Anderson, I was just giving her fair warning," she shrugged as if she had saved the woman's life by encouraging her to take shelter from an incoming tsunami. After finding out about his witch's mean streak, he thought that maybe Hermione had done just that.

A soft ding announced the arrival of the lift, and the conversation resumed only after the doors closed behind them both, giving them complete privacy. "Were you sad to see your fangirl go, Mr. Malfoy?" She goaded.

"Why would I ever be so?" he asked making eye contact on the reflective surface of the lift's closed doors. "I'm happily married."

"Ours is not a real marriage," the words left her mouth without her permission or input. Suddenly, a somewhat hostile chill fell over the confined space. Her eyes became hostages of his molten mercury ones and she felt, rather than saw, his nostrils flare in annoyance. Irrational fear and adrenaline pumped through her veins as her mouth, for some unknown reason, watered. Possessed, her lips continued to move of their own accord. "You did not court me, we never dated, there was never a proposal, and you most certainly were never infatuated with me." He cocked his head to the side, eying her like the snake he was. "In fact, for the better portion of our lives, you despised my very existence, Draco." Finally managing to regain control over her errant mouth, she stopped her verboseness with the same abruptness with which it had begun. He observed her attentively, making a point to take in every inch of her body. The lift was in complete silence, but her mind was loud as she mentally berated herself for bringing this up in a MACUSA lift of all places. "Is this blasted thing even moving?"

"Not at the moment, no," he shrugged as he began to prowl around her making the hairs on her back and arms stand on end. "I am taking advantage of the fact that you cannot run away because I want to understand what it is you are ranting about, Hermione."

"What if someone is having an emergency and needs the lift?" his eerie calm was making all her instincts of self-preservation go berserk. Alarm bells were going off in her brain, instructing her to seek cover and pull out her wand as she eyed the wizard in distrust.

"There are other lifts, besides everyone in this building can do magic," he pointed out as he stalked closer. "Shall we focus on your tirade now? I think we should."

"Can you please give me breathing space?" her hands and voice were quivering like a leave in the midst of a violent thunderstorm. "You are overwhelming me deliberately."

"I am afraid I quite like being in close proximity to you," his soft chuckle overflowed with twisted enjoyment. "Now, what is this nonsense you are spewing of our marriage not being real?"

"Call it nonsense if you will, but it makes what I said no less factual," the swot in her could not control herself. "We are, at best, an atypical couple."

"How so?" It was almost as if he could command his intoxicating cologne to invade her nostrils. Soon, all she could see, hear and smell was Draco. It was a disturbing and heady experience.

"Arranged marriages are not normal, Draco," her voice made it obvious it annoyed her to have to say it.

"I disagree. Arranged marriages are all the rage in my social circles," he countered. She knew this was not the time or place to unpack all the feelings that had been rotting away in the back of her mind, but she knew he would not let it go.

"Really, now," she extended each of the syllables for all they were worth, "so you are telling me it is commonplace for you to get set up by the Ministry of Magic?"

"Hermione," he said seriously, "my statement was the utter truth. Our marriage is not any less legitimate because of how it came to be. It doesn't matter who or what arranged our marriage, the fact is that we are very much married. I don't think we are miserable, in fact, I think we are quite content with the present state of affairs. All in all, we are, indeed, happily married."

"Do you truly believe that?" Even though intellectually she understood the point Draco was attempting to make—and, as she was aware of the meaning of both words, she had to begrudgingly grant his point—she nevertheless still felt like a sham whenever she said she was his wife, used his last name, or called him her husband.

"I do," while she had been deep in her own mind, he had approached and was now snaking his arms around her, bringing her close. "I would even dare argue that our marriage is more real than most."

"You almost had me," she sighed deflating into his hold, "but now you lost me again."

"How so?" he asked curiously. "If you think about it, it's pretty obvious. So what if we weren't Hogwarts sweethearts, or spent our summers together? I was a right little shite, count your blessings that your true exposure to me is happening now and not then."

"That's true, yes," she nodded as she felt the tingling of their joint magic settle against her skin. "But still…"

"Witch," he sounded annoyed now. "Other relationships, unlike our own, depend on infatuation and whatnot to keep them afloat. This dependency makes for fickle bonds that can get destroyed in the blink of an eye. Look at Potter and the Weaselette; they had a fairytale relationship, right?" she nodded dutifully. "And in one clean swoop, he marries Pansy, she marries Blaise, and there is nothing left there."

"They didn't choose this!" she pulled her head away and defended the defunct relationship fiercely.

"The rumor mill says Potter most certainly did," Draco contradicted. "But even if he had not, her magic spoke out and chose Blaise. I digress." He shook his head, "the point is that our marriage is enviable. Our bond is more than flowers, chocolates, and sappy dates. My commitment to you, your happiness, your dreams… it is unwavering. All I am, and all that is mine, is at your disposal."

"I know that," she said resting her head back against his chest, the conversation and the exhausting day catching up with her, "but I just can't help but feel that like we did this whole thing wrong. Marriages are about love and wanting to grow old together."

"Aren't you supposed to be the most brilliant witch to have ever roamed the planet?" he laughed. "I am so utterly disappointed in you, Hermione."

"Excuse me?" she said stepping away from him. His unexpected joke at the expense of her intellect stung more than she would have cared to admit.

"You are excused," he quipped.

"Threat very lightly," she cautioned seriously, "or else you will find yourself on the receiving end of one nasty curse."

"I'm sorry," he shrugged, "but I meant that. I can't actually believe you think that marriages are about love."

"What do you think they are about?" she said letting her temper flare. "Are they supposed to be about breeding and rearing children? Promoting blood purity? Perpetuating hate?" she knew she was being mean and spiteful, but he didn't seem fazed in the least, which annoyed her all the more.

"Marriages are about hard work and sacrifice, I think," he chuckled again. "They are not about butterflies or candlelit dinners. That's why when those things happen in a marriage they are treated as a surprise or a big gesture," he batted the idea away as if it was ridiculous. "Marriages are about having a partner with whom to take on the world. It's about both parties giving up our individual dreams and hopes to create new ones together, or at the very least working together to achieve individual dreams. When you marry someone you don't do it because they make you blush or they find you attractive, or at least I should hope not," she felt strangely chastised by his condescending look. "You marry because you think that other person might be worthy of all of you, not just the good parts."

"Even if I granted you your points how, in Merlin's sweet name, is this related to this marriage?" she sounded equal parts annoyed and disconcerted as if she was having a hard time seeing things from his perspective, and she thought him responsible for the headache pounding away at her temples.

"Our souls are bound to each other," his gaze was smoldering, "and not in a cheesy way, but in the very real, very terrifying way. If something happens and you die, I die too. If you are sad or upset or sick, I am as well. Right now, for example, one of us has projected a smashing migraine onto the other one. There is nothing protecting me from you. If one day you decide to off yourself, it's over for the both of us. Love is as good a starting point as any for a relationship, but it is not the only one, it is not everything, and it certainly isn't enough to keep a relationship going over the years." At some point during his speech, the wizard must have lost his focus causing the spell he had placed on the lift to slip because soon another ding announced their arrival at the Department of Magical Immigration and Border Security.

"Oh," said a meek looking witch when the doors to the claustrophobic space opened. "Mr. Malfoy, good, here you are, we were wondering what had happened, the elevator never acts up, we are so sorry." The woman spoke a mile a minute and Hermione wonder if she was always so strung up, or if it was just a side effect of being in Draco's imposing presence. Probably the latter. "If you will accompany me, please?" she gestured for them to step out of the elevator.

"Of course," Hermione smiled through her headache as she reached out for Draco's hand, quickly interlacing their fingers. At the sight, the woman's eyes nearly jumped out of her sockets, confirming the brunette's suspicions.

"After you," Draco gestured with his free hand.

"I insist," the petite witch waited calmly indicating they should walk down the hall.

"Ah," Draco's voice was calm, but Hermione felt her headache flare angrily, "too terrified to give your back to me, Ms...?"

"Blakely," the woman provided quickly.

"Non-maj parents, then," Draco observed calmly, readying himself for an unpleasant encounter.

"And proud," she said putting some steel into her mousy little spine, "I am too smart to give anyone that hates me, for things beyond my control, my back."

"Draco," Hermione chastised her husband for inadvertently distressing the woman, despite the fact that she was utterly displeased by her judgemental approach.

"Oh God," the woman's eyes truly bugged out of her eye sockets this time, " are you Hermione Granger? I've read about you."

"Ms. Blakely," she offered her free hand, "pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"You were born to non-majs too, right? You are a war hero!" Then, as if becoming aware of the fact that the pair before her seemed a bit too comfortable in holding each other's hand, she asked: "Wait, what are _you_ doing with _him_?" Draco let out a long blood-curdling chuckle that made both witches wince.

"Draco," she cautioned him as she squeezed his hand in warning. Turning to the woman, and using her best displeased McGonagall voice, she said, "Though I am tremendously flattered by your reaction, Ms. Blakely, I must admit I am appalled by your poor display of manners. As someone that might or might not have encounter judgment at first glance due to your blood status, you should know better than to judge people you don't know" when the witch looked like she might interject, Hermione added, "regardless of what you think you might know about someone else. To answer your impolite question, I am here with Draco because I happen to be married to the man, git though he might be," she felt his hand squeeze hers gently.

"Married?!" the woman's horrified voice carried over the entire floor and soon head after head popped up from the myriad of cubicles that occupied the space near the lifts.

"Ms. Blakely," chastised an impressively tall man from a door down the hall, "I know this is your first day here, but your task was pretty darn simple. What is going on, and why are you taking so long to bring Mr. Malfoy?"

"I, hmm, he," the witch had lost her ability to coherently string sentences together.

"Chauncy," Draco greeted disinterestedly from behind the stuttering witch.

"I will be taking over from here," Chauncy announced. "The rest of you," his voice boomed, "back to work!" In record time heads dove back into cubicles and papers began rustling loudly. "Malfoy," he gestured into his office. When they breached the threshold, Hermione read the plate that adorned it. Michael Chauncy, Department Head. "Please, take a seat."

"Hermione," Draco said pulling her chair out for her.

"Thank you," she said as she sat down. Chauncy only took his seat after Draco folded his body into his signature contained sprawl.

"And who is this beauty?" Chauncy sounded strangely friendly.

"Paws off, you decrepit dog," Draco's voice was playful in a manner Hermione rarely got to hear, "that's my wife you are ogling."

"Wife?" Chauncy sounded pleasantly shocked, "You managed to ensnare someone into marrying your ugly mug?"

"I resent that more than I can express," Draco said reaching for his face. "I had some… help… but she indeed married me." Hermione couldn't help her laugh.

"Am I to assume you two are friends based on this lovely banter?" Hermione said entertained.

"I wouldn't say, friends," Draco said conversationally, "not after that comment about my pristine face, at least."

"Afraid so, ma'am," Chauncy ignored Draco's dramatics, earning a smile from Hermione and a sulk from the blond. "This one here grows on you like fungus, don't he?"

"Something like that, yes," she admitted with a laugh.

"I usually keep a professional distance from my charges," he explained, "but this one here requires weekly oversight while in the country, and since his last stay lasted six months…"

"Ah, yes," Hermione nodded in understanding "I imagine even I would befriend him after such exposure." Chauncy looked confused but Draco laughed as if he had heard the best joke ever told.

"If you say so, ma'am," Chauncy nodded reaching for his wand. "'Kay Malfoy, boy, you know the drill," he said stretching out his hand as Draco handed over his wand.

"What are you doing?" Hermione questioned before the wizard could even get a single word out.

"Well, I am casting a spell, ma'am," even if he hadn't said it as if she was slow, Hermione would have still found the answer condescending.

"Obviously," her response was caustic, "but which one and why, Mr. Chauncy?"

"I will be casting the usuals," the wizard shrugged nonchalantly, "a monitoring spell, a tracking spell, a limiting spell—"

"What do you mean by a limiting spell?" Hermione's voice rose an octave.

"Well, it's a spell that limits Mr. Malfoy's casting ability," Chauncy explained.

"Clearly this is not getting me anywhere," she said physically turning her body away from the official to face Draco. "Explain."

"She's got quite the temper, this one," Chauncy sounded more entertained than insulted.

"And you would do well to avoid angering her," Draco cautioned, "I'm fairly certain she has diplomatic immunity."

"Does she now?" He asked raising an eyebrow.

"I must certainly do," Hermione assured him, eyes still on her husband, "explain."

"In order to be allowed some version of freedom in my roaming of the country, MACUSA requires that my magic be limited. I would never allow for a spell to be placed on my magical core," his eyes communicating more than his words, "temporary as it might be. Thus, MACUSA's best," he gestured at Chauncy, "gets to monitor my every cast, at any moment, and gets to limit my use on my wand. The same goes for my use of any portkey, which is why we were brought here before we can continue to our destination."

"Is this necessary?" Hermione demanded.

"If you wish to make it to—"

"A-ta-tah!" Draco interrupted. "The missus doesn't know where we are going, yet. Don't go mucking it up now."

"Git," Hermione rolled her eyes.

"In that case, let's get you sorted out so that you can take off already. I'm certain you two probably want to get some rest, after all, you are traveling against time" Chauncy said taking them in "and judging by your attire you have had quite the exciting day."

"Let's," Draco agreed.

"Fine," Hermione acquiesced, "but I don't feel particularly safe or comfortable with you not having full use of your magic."

"You might be the only one," Chauncy and Draco said simultaneously, sending both into laughter, and making Hermione roll her eyes once more.

\- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA- MMA - MMA

 _Hello,_

 _It has been such a rough time recently at school and even though I wanted to update and be here with you, it has been so difficult to get this chapter out. I struggled to write it and still feel like it is not very good... but I decided I need to get back to this story that I love so much and do something that actually puts a smile on my face. Law school is hard y'all, and we oftentimes don't realize just what a crazy toll it is taking on our bodies and souls. It is important to keep our priorities in line and to do stuff that makes us happy for a change._

 _This one chapter goes out to my classmate C.M., whom I didn't know in the least but who started this crazy law school journey with me and another 200 something students, and who recently took his own life._

 _If you are going through a tough time, please reach out to your family and friends. You are loved fiercely and are very much needed on this Earth._

 _All the love in the world to each one of your precious souls,_

 _Kikistone._


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